


Losing All Hope Was Freedom

by Mrs_Moony



Series: LAHWF stories [1]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Military, Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Depression, F/M, Falling In Love, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Military is in charge, Non-Graphic Smut, Non-Graphic Violence, On the Run, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-08
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2018-11-11 09:02:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 91,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11145228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mrs_Moony/pseuds/Mrs_Moony
Summary: First, they had all experienced what it's like to be completely and utterly lost. Blind, deaf, with no way to tell whether they were dead or just dreaming, only to find out it was neither of those. That it was their reality now.Then, it passed, as a bad memory, as a bone-crushing nightmare. It left them shattered. Unexpectant of the next blow. When you already see the world in grey, losing the colors won't make much of a difference, or so they thought. But it did.Now, the borders are closed. The rules are the only thing that feels real. Hope is a distant memory.So he runs. He takes his siblings, and he runs as far as he can, trying to find a glimpse of hope that maybe, out there, they will find something else.





	1. I Think I Found Hell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Or, an apocalypse AU based on a drunken idea which kept nagging at me until I wrote it down. Here it is. It will be a hell of a ride.  
>  First of all, there is a lot of unexplained stuff in the beginning. I didn't want to do it info-dump style, so bear with me. All will be explained. 
> 
> There will be three POV's, one of them of an original character.

 

 

 

_“You're becoming. You're in the process of becoming. You just don't know what yet.”_

 

*

 

 

A loud, ear-popping sound resonates in the otherwise quiet night.

His first thought is that it is an alarm indicating that they've been caught and he can't help it but start panicking immediately, thinking that they are officially  _screwed_ – but then he notices the truck on their left, and a driver who seemingly fell asleep on his car honk.

“Oh my God,” comes a whisper from his right. “This is the third fucking time today that I thought I was gonna die. With the way things are going lately, I'm going to get a heart attack within weeks.” Gina tries to make it sound like a joke, but it's obvious how much she hates being out here, exposed as they are. Her dark eyes are squinted into slits and there's a sheen layer of sweat on her forehead, a single drop stuck on her neck, unwilling to fall down into her black locks.

Mickey has to agree with her. They are all still a bit jumpy from the earlier close call at the border. They seriously don't need any more surprises.

“What a moron,” he mutters when the truck driver jumps out of his sleep, frantically looking around for the source of the sound until he notices he's been pressing it with his fat elbows the whole time.

Gina nudges his side and he follows her line of sight, noticing the man they've been following locking the warehouse up for the night. He watches him closely until the man gets into his car and starts the engine, driving away to the metal gate that they've been hiding by.

“Alright, time to move. Wouldn't want him to find your sorry ass crouching in the bushes, would you?” says Gina jokingly as she stands up quietly, the shadow covering her from the man's sight, backing away to the woods where the rest of their group is waiting.

Mickey doesn't dignify that with a response, just follows her in a similarly quiet fashion. If their calculations were right – which they fucking better be – this was the last guard for the night before their guy is supposed to show up. Their group managed to knock the guy out and steal his ID code earlier that day. Now, all they have to do is get the rest and return to the gate, then use the code to get their car inside so that they could pile it up with food. Simple.

Once he and Gina have walked into the woods, Mickey spots the others immediately. They haven't bothered with hiding themselves or the car, knowing that this was the least protected of the warehouses near the border, and the only guard had just left.

“Is he gone?” Gareth asks as soon as they come close enough. His brows are furrowed and he's the only one who looks genuinely concerned. The others are grinning or joking quietly, not really finding any of this entertaining enough.

“Yep. Just drove through the gate. We should get going,” Mickey replies and suppresses a chuckle when he sees Jackson and Cat mocking the way Gareth sighs in exasperation, obviously judging them all for acting so childish.

Gareth doesn't say a word, but he climbs up into the driver's seat, waiting for them to follow. Mickey and Gina squeeze together on the other front seat while Jackson, Cat, Walt and Lana try to fit into the back.

Even though Mickey tries not to take sides, he also thinks that Gareth acts like a stuck-up asshole who thinks himself to be too good and too smart and overall better than everyone else. But he also has respect for the guy, which is why he mostly keeps his mouth shut when the others are mocking him. Gareth has saved them countless times before and he knows how to find a solution when many others would be absolutely clueless. He deserves some credit for that.

When Gareth drives the car onto the road that leads to the gate, a familiar tension settles in Mickey's stomach. He can tell that the others feel it, too, judging from the way they all stop their pointless rambling. It gets slightly better when they stop by the gate and the code actually works, allowing them to drive through and park the car by the warehouse. No matter how well prepared they are for the mission, there are always countless things that could go wrong. There is always the risk of getting caught.

“Alright guys, Walt and I are gonna check it out. You've got the list on you, Gina?”

Gina rolls her eyes as she hands the list to Jackson, grimacing. “That was like, my only job, asshole. Try not to set off any alarms in there.”

“Aye, captain,” Jackson jokes and winks at her before pushing the car door open and opening the truck. While he and Walt are picking out their guns, Mickey keeps an eye on the other warehouses, trying to spot any sort of movement that might indicate that they are not alone.

Jackson and Walt, now armed, creep closer to the main entrance, looking around before using the code once again to open the double door. The seconds while they are inside feel like eternity. All of them hold their breaths until Walt walks out with a shit-eating grin, showing them thumbs up to indicate that the coast is clear.

“Thank God,” Gina mutters as she pushes the door open, “I'm really looking forward to getting out of here.”

“Come on, Gi,” Cat says in her typical, lazy voice, “we barely got any action going today. I wouldn't say no to kicking someone's ass.” Gina shakes off the arm that Cat had around her shoulders and frowns, shaking her head in disbelief.

“Yeah, no thank you.”

Mickey decides to ignore them and walks to the trunk to find a gun that won't be too heavy. He doesn't like the feeling of not having any on him these days. It seems like the Protectors are just looking for an excuse to shoot a bullet through any rebel they could find.

“Gareth, you staying in?” he asks, but the man shakes his head and gets out of the car, too.

“Lana says she'll stay this time. I'm coming with you.”

Gina and Cat both disappear into the building, leaving Gareth and Mickey alone, which is when he mutters the rest of the sentence, frowning even more deeply than usual. “Someone's got to keep you fools from accidentally shooting a bullet through your own asses.”

Mickey just chuckles lightly and closes the trunk, then follows Gareth inside. The warehouse is not a big one, but there's more than enough food and supplies to last their little group for a few weeks.

He looks around and sees that the others are already gathering the boxes and stocking them by the entrance, and so he and Gareth start taking the boxes outside and into the car. They mostly take the things they can't survive without – canned food, medicine, first-aid kits, gas, ammo… But Gina also has a list of requests from those who stayed in the shelter. There isn't really much to choose from, but they take some clothes and fancier food (knowing fully well that they are far better off than the civilians who are within the system. Why should the Protectors share the good stuff, huh?).

“Guys, we're full. Let's pack it up!” Gareth says as he comes back inside. “Where's Jackson?” he asks when Mickey is the last one to exit the building.

“He was in the ammo section. I thought he was already here,” says Walt. He and Mickey look at each other, both of them thinking the same.

“Motherfucker!” Mickey yells when they hear the alarm going off, this time for real.

“Jackson! Jackson, come the fuck on!” While the rest of them are trying not to panic, Gareth runs back into the warehouse. Lana's eyes widen with fear, the engine still running, and Mickey can see how much she has to keep herself from getting the fuck out of there.

“Lana,” he says, trying for his voice to remain calm which is getting harder and harder with every passing second of the alarm still ringing and both Gareth and Jackson still inside. “Lana, be ready. The second they are out, we're getting out of here.”

She looks at him with fear written all over her hard features and he notices how hard her hands are shaking from gripping the wheel too tight. She manages a firm nod though, getting a sigh of relief out of Mickey. 

“Gina? The code?” he asks, turning around to face the people in the back.

“Here,” she says, handing it to him. All of their expressions show how close to losing it they all really are. They don't know how much time they have left. As far as they know, the forces could be just behind the gate, ready to arrest or kill them all.

But then they see Jackson running out of the door, followed by Gareth. As soon as the two are in the car, Lana presses the pedal into the floor, causing the motor to roar in protest.

They make it to the gate without saying a word, knowing fully well that they are not out of danger yet.

Lana's hand is shaking when she opens the gate, and once they get off the main road and into the woods where they came from, they can hear the sirens. If Mickey was even slightly religious, he would be praying so hard for them not to find them, but if there was a God, he would never let the world to become like this. No one could be that cruel.

“You are so fucking stupid, Jackson!” Gina's high-pitched voice interrupts the silence. “What the hell were you thinking?!” She wipes angrily at the few tears that managed to spill down her face.

“I'm sorry,” Jackson says, turning in his seat to face her, but Gina growls in his direction.

“You could have gotten us all killed. All because of that fucking toy of yours! Do you even realize how close of a call this was?!”

“Yes, I do realize that,” he spits back at her, suddenly angry. “I didn't do it on purpose, okay? I know I fucked up, but don't act like  _you_  never did.”

That was a low blow, or so Mickey thinks, and Jackson seems to regret it instantly. They never mention what happened last spring and bringing it up now was definitely a dick move.

“Yeah, whatever,” she replies and turns herself away from him completely, letting Cat embrace her in a short hug.

“Can you have this conversation later, once we're not maybe being chased by those fuckers?” Mickey asks in irritation. He knows that, by now, they are probably out of danger, but he is still so worked up that he can feel the vein in his neck pulsing.

“Mickey's right,” says Gareth who, surprisingly kept quiet until now. Usually, he would be all over them, cursing them for being so reckless, even though it was just Jackson this time. “We need to get out of these woods first. Lana, are you okay with driving?”

“Yes.” She has calmed down by now, Mickey assumes, judging from her voice, but he knows how good she is at keeping her emotions to herself if need be. The little almost-breakdown she had before was more of an exception, and he thinks she only let her guard now because it was him by her side and not someone else.

It took them almost two hours to finally get on the normal road, and once they did, Gareth insisted on switching with Lana.

The border is another two hours away and the tension in the car isn't making it any more bearable. Mickey has half a mind to crack some stupid joke to ease it up a bit when Gareth speaks again.

“We all have to forget about what happened, at least for now. We can think about it when we get home, but for now, the only thing we need to think about is the border. Getting through it will be a way bigger risk than running from those guards was. We all knew the risk, we knew what we were getting into. So stop the passive-aggressive bullshit and focus, for fuck's sake.”

Mickey has to hand it to him – the man knows how to lead a group. When he is on a mission, he automatically takes over the role, and no one really blames him or tries to lead themselves because they know he is good at it.

“How long till the Market?” Walt asks from the back, mostly to turn the conversation back to normal. Gareth is right. They have to focus.

“Around fifty miles. I hope it's Vladimir working today. God knows how much of a pain in the ass the other two are.”

“If it is Vladimir, we are good. He likes me,” Lana says simply.

“Only because you are Russian.”

“So? It helps, yes?”

“Yeah, right,” Mickey says, a disgusted expression forming on his face. “It's fucking disgusting how he looks at you. If the other two guys weren't such morons, I'd happily scratch his fucking eyes out and grill them like a barbeque.”

Lana sends him a glare that could kill a man if she tried hard enough but doesn't argue. They all know very well that the only reason Vladimir helps them out every time is Lana, and that her being Russian is only part of the deal. Ever since the first time they brought her on a mission and Vladimir helped them out way more enthusiastically than usual in exchange for a fuck, she refused to let them go without her. She says that it is a way better option than having to give Vladimir and his men half of the things they stole.

This way, they get to keep all of it. Lana ends every argument about it by saying that her fucking Vladimir for food is the same as her fucking customers for money years before that. She says she doesn't mind one bit, and the others have stopped trying to argue after some time, knowing that she was right. It is a better option for everyone. They have a lot of mouths to feed.

That doesn't mean Mickey has to like it, though.

In many ways, Lana is like a sister to him. She was the first person they met after getting out of Chicago. He and his two siblings, Mandy and Iggy, had been walking for days, having lost their car in a shoot-out just a few miles from home. They were barely standing by the time they met Lana, who not only offered to take them wherever they wanted in exchange for protection and a gun but who also had a full trunk of food. She said she stole it from her husband, who did stocking in one of the local food centers.

Which is how the four of them ended up driving together to the border. They didn't know what they would find on the other side, but they knew they couldn't stay, either. Mickey wasn't leaving anything behind – the house, the city, the people – it all only reminded him of his fucked up childhood and memories he tried to suppress. The system would never allow them to move, and so he had to leave. Mandy and Iggy were just as eager to get out of there and away from their father.

“Almost there,” Gareth mutters, hauling Mickey out of his trance. He shakes his head a bit to shift his focus back to present.

He could already see the outline of a building on their right. They call it the Market because you could get basically anything in there. The three brothers who own it, Vladimir being one of them, have their contacts among the Protectors who let them get away with some things. Like, for example, getting people through the border. Not like the brothers actually tell them that, but it is implied. Mickey doesn't really care, as long as they can get them through.

Gareth parks the car on the side of the road, eyeing the building suspiciously. They wait patiently for Vladimir to peek out of the door. Once he does, Lana gives them a small smile and gets out of the car, following Vladimir inside. The fucker actually whistles when he sees her walking towards him, sending a lewd grin in their general direction before closing the door shut behind them.

“Fucking pig,” Mickey mumbles, unable to help himself. It's physically challenging not to storm in there and beat the guy senseless, especially when he remembers the bruises Lana returned with last time.

“Better him than Alexei or Roman. Those two would probably take her offer and then demand the food anyway. If nothing else, Vladimir is a man of his word.”

Mickey glares daggers at Gareth but doesn't reply. He hates the way Gareth would try to defend him sometimes. Sure, the guy is helping them out, but no matter what Lana says, he knows that she doesn't like any of this one bit. On the other hand, he is aware that that's what they get in this world. They are doing what they can to survive.

“Guys,” Jackson says quietly after another few minutes of silence. “I'm really sorry about what happened. I know you said not to talk about it until we get through, Gareth, but it's been making me go crazy ever since. I'm sorry for putting you guys in danger. And for what I said earlier, Gina. That was really fucking unfair.”

Even though he seems genuinely sorry about everything, it's obvious from the way he's looking at Gina like a kicked puppy that he wants to win her back. The two of them are somewhat of an on-and-off couple, but no one besides them really knows what's going on with them.

Gina sighs and mutters something about him being a dick, but it's obvious that she's not mad at him anymore. Mickey thinks that she should be, but he isn't stupid enough to say something.

“What were you doing, anyway?” he asks, realizing that he didn't see Jackson bring anything back.

“Oh,” Jackson's eyes widen as if he totally forgot about it, too. “This. Iggy and I have been trying to hack the main system for ages, but we never paid attention to the DAMs. We gathered enough info to know how those things work and with this, we could get into it pretty easily.” He lifts a small, rectangular-shaped board with various dents that the guards in cities use to plug into the DAM, which stands for the Duty Assigning Machine. It helps to keep everything neat and orderly, or at least the Protectors say so. Which basically means it's something dangerous that they should stay the fuck away from.

“Iggy is a part of this? Since fucking when?!” he is pissed, not only at his brother but at himself for not figuring it out sooner. This could get them into a pile of shit so deep that none of them would be able to crawl their way out.

“A few weeks,” Jackson admits, visibly freaked out by Mickey's reaction. “But we're not doing anything that would get us found out. They don't even care about DAMs, those things are completely accessible to the civilians.”

“They could track us down if they find out we have it,” Cat hisses with as much venom as Mickey had. She snatches the device from Jackson's hands before he can stop her.

“We should just throw it away!”

“No fucking way, Cat! Come on! It nearly cost us our lives and you want to get rid of it? This thing could get us closer to finding out what's going on, it could help us take down the Protectors!”

Cat grabbed his collar and pulled him closer, squeezing Gina between them but not paying attention to anything but Jackson.

“No, you idiot,” she says, “it was your stupidity that nearly cost us our lives. Even if this thing could do all of that, it's just too many  _coulds_. And what, now you want to take down the Protectors? On your own? We'd never stand a fucking chance.”

She lets go of him, much to Gina's relief. “Okay, you need to stop,” she mutters after taking a much-needed breath. “We'll only have to be in this car for a few more hours, then we can claw each other's eyes out.”

“What about this?” Cat asks, still holding the device.

“Throw it out,” Mickey replies instantly, shutting Jackson up with a glare.

When Gareth speaks, it surprises them again, but it probably shouldn't. “We're keeping it. It was too much of a risk to get it and I don't want anyone else finding it.”

“Why do you act like you're our boss?! I want that thing out.”

Gareth, ignoring both Cat's fuming and her accusation just sighs, pointing at Lana and Vladimir who are walking back towards the car. “Time to go.”

Vladimir just grins when they greet him, not having spoken a single word with them since Lana happened. Not like any of them mind.

Lana swiftly jumps back into the car, stiffening when Vladimir pulls her close for one last kiss. He mutters something to her in Russian and then they are driving away, Vladimir following them in his own car.

“Okay?” Mickey asks, not wanting to draw much attention to her, which is a hard task when you're squeezed in a car with six more people.

“Yes, everything fine. Didn't take much time today.”

He nods and lets the topic be, focusing instead on stealing glances in her direction, trying to find any evidence that she's hurt. She notices, of course, but doesn't react other than squeezing his hand shortly.

The rest of the ride to the border is unexpectedly quiet. Cat, having been the only one to insist on getting the device Jackson had stolen out of the car after Gareth's input, is now grumpily staring straight ahead, ignoring everyone's attempts at conversation.

Though Mickey understands why Gareth would say that, it still seems like an excuse to him. But instead of trying to fight the cause, he decides to save his anger for Iggy for when they come back. Not long after his decision to preferably rip his head off with his bare hands as soon as he sees him again, the car starts slowing down. Gareth pulls over by the side of the road and they wait inside for Vladimir.

“Why is it so dark?” Mickey asks, pointing at the border, the only indication of its presence being one lousy light on both sides of the road.

“No idea,” Gareth mutters, sighing. “It wasn't like this the last time. Then again, the rules change faster than ever now. I wouldn't be surprised if they refused to give Vladimir any more free passes.”

“Geez, could you not make us any more nervous than we already are, dumbass?” Gina hisses from the back, her voice hoarse from not being used much. He mumbles an apology but soon all of their eyes are on Vladimir's car that doesn't even slow down, just passes them and rides straight to the border.

Once it stops, a group of soldiers appears with their guns drawn. One of them steps closer and talks to Vladimir, but none of them can see nor hear the exchange. After a few more minutes, the soldier signals to the others and they disappear as quickly as they got there.

Vladimir turns around then, not sparing them a glance as he drives by them again.

“I really hope he didn't just sell us over,” says Jackson as Gareth starts the car and starts driving towards the border.

“No. I believe what he says. He never takes without paying. He may not be good man, but he is honest.” No one argues with Lana after she says that, and soon they are all relieved when no one tries to stop them while getting to the other side.

The mood is seemingly better once they have made it through all the most dangerous parts. Now, all they have to do is get home safely and pray not to meet any Hunters. Protectors pay them to search through the areas behind the borders, and even though they are civilians, that doesn't make them any less cruel or dangerous.

Much to everyone's relief, the rest of the drive is pretty boring. Cat is still refusing to talk to anyone and Walt has been suspiciously quiet the whole time, but Mickey is honestly fed up with their shit after spending the whole day listening to them. He almost sighs in relief when they finally spot their shelter.

“Welcome home, guys. We did good.” Gareth gives them all one of his rare smiles.

Mickey and Walt get out of the car first, Walt fumbling for the keys so that they could get a car inside. The shelter is an actual bomb shelter, though it is nothing like any others Mickey had ever seen. It is a huge complex with rooms and corridors that you can easily get lost in if you don't know the way. Gareth and Brian were the ones who showed it to the others – apparently, it's some kind of a family legacy, something their great-grandfather or something had helped build. When the attacks hit them and the system was built, only to prove to be rotten and corrupted years later, the brothers decided to move there, knowing that no one else seemingly knew about the place.

The entrance to the shelter is hidden in one of the abandoned warehouses near what used to be Tucson, Arizona. It's impossible to find if you don't know what to look for, but the warehouse itself isn't secured in any way. It's a huge risk to leave the car there, but they don't have many options. They just have to hope that no one finds them out.

The unpacking of the stolen supplies takes them almost an hour, the only good thing being that the sun has long set. Mickey honestly can't wait till he can finally drop off and sleep for a few days.

“Oh my God! They're back!”

As soon as they managed to unpack everything, they could hear voices, and before anyone else could even acknowledge their existence, Ruby is already squeezing the life out of them.

“Okay, okay, enough with the hugging, short stuff. Jesus,” he mutters without any venom to his voice. Ruby rolls her eyes but lets him go, moving on to Gareth who seems anything but pleased, though everyone else knows how much of a softie he is when it comes to Ruby. She is the youngest one of them all and since day one, Gareth has made it his duty to take care of her.

“Hey, assface.” Mickey turns around with a huge grin when he hears his sister's voice. She and Iggy are leaning against the entrance to the main hall, both of them trying to look indifferent even though it's obvious that they've been worried.

He lets her pull him into a hug and even exchanges one with Iggy, momentarily forgetting about the reason he's been wanting to beat the life out of him.

“Alright, everyone. We're all glad you came back. Anyone hungry?”

Mickey and all the others turn around to see Brian eyeing them from the back. Though he is the older of the brothers, the huge smile plastered across his face makes him look at least ten years younger. His resemblance to Gareth is almost invisible this way.

After the whooping at the mention of food, they all move to one of the main hall which they use as a kitchen/living room/meeting office.

Before Mickey could leave the hall with the others, a grip on his shoulder stops him. The only reason that he doesn't shake it off is that it's Brian, his face unreadable as always. Mandy and Iggy stayed behind, too, which is confusing.

He frowns and raises his eyebrows, waiting for them to say something. “What?”

Mandy looks down when he tries to catch her gaze so he turns back to Brian, getting a little irritated. “Could someone tell me what the hell is going on?!”

“Mandy, Iggy and Andrew spotted an intruder by the river. They brought him in.”

Mickey's eyes turn into slits as he looks from Brian to Mandy to Iggy and to Brian again.

“A soldier?” he asks and when Brian nods, he back away immediately, cursing under his breath.

“Why the fuck is he still alive then?! Where is he? Do the others know?”

“He's with Andrew and Leslie. He was barely conscious when they found him, Leslie has been keeping an eye on him and Andrew stayed in case he wanted to attack.” Brian grips his shoulder again, ignoring the constant stream of curses spilling out of Mickey's mouth. “The others don't know yet. Your siblings and I discussed it and we decided to let you deal with it after what happened last time. He could have some information, my advice is we should wait till he's better and then interrogate him. But he's a prisoner, it's your choice to make.”

Mickey ignores the way his throat tightens when Brian mentions it, trying desperately not to think about him. At least not now.

“Mickey, look at me. I'm not letting you go until you've calmed down.”

“I'm fine,” he spits out, forcing himself to breathe in and out slowly. He can do this. “Where is he?”

“Come on,” Brian says and turns around, grabbing a flashlight from the ground before walking down the hall and then to the left, where the smaller corridors and a make-shift hospital wing is.

Mickey waits up for Mandy and Iggy before following Brian into the maze of hallways.

“Are you two okay?” he asks, eyeing them suspiciously.

“Yeah. He gave up immediately, we didn't even have to shoot. Just grabbed his gun and then he passed out, so we decided to bring him.” Iggy looks at him warily, maybe expecting Mickey to get mad. But he understands why they did that. He appreciates that he even gets a call in this, knowing that Brian could just deal with it alone. But after what happened last year…

“Andrew,” Brian mutters and Mickey looks up at the man, nodding in greeting. Andrew is a nice guy but he could take out any of them in a fight if he wanted to. Mickey is glad that they didn't leave Leslie alone with that soldier.

Mickey recognises the room as the one right next to the hospital wing. There is a narrow corridor connecting them in the back, and the only way out is through this room. They walk through and find themselves in the other room, slightly more lit than the rest of the complex.

“Hey,” Leslie greets them from the other side of the room. Mickey could see that she is kneeling beside a body sprawled on one of the matrasses that they had to bring here from one of the bedrooms. There is a bit of blood on her hands and she looks paler than usual, afraid even, though that passes quickly. As they get closer, he can see that the guy is wearing a uniform covered in so much dirt that it's barely recognisable. His skin is sickly pale under the heavy layer of dirt and there is a white gauze on his upper arm, the blood already soaking through.

“He was shot,” Leslie says as an explanation. “I took out the bullet but he hasn't even woken up. He had a fever when they brought him but it's getting better now, I don't think the wound is infected. We just gotta wait until he wakes up.”

“Or not,” Mickey says involuntarily, though he means every word. He looks up at Brian who seems unaffected by it all, then at his siblings who are both avoiding his gaze. Leslie is just looking straight back at him as if she's daring him to kill her patient in front of her.

“He's a soldier. A fucking Protector. Had he not been shot and barely conscious when you found him, he would have killed you.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Iggy says, but Mandy snorts loudly, punching Iggy in the arm.

“That's bullshit,” she says. “He was shot, yeah, but he saw us way before we even spotted him. He had his gun drawn but he didn't shoot, even though he could have. He seemed fine until we came closer, which is when he passed out. I say he at least deserves a chance to talk once he wakes up. I mean, what the fuck was he even doing there, anyway? He was outside the borders but he's clearly not a Hunter. He was alone so not in a search group either. It just doesn't make any sense.”

Mickey thinks it through for a while before sighing out loudly, looking away from the soldier. “Fine. We'll wait till he wakes up. After we hear him out, we should tell the others and let everyone have a say in this. I appreciate that you did this, Brian, but if he stays alive, I don't want anything to do with him.”

Without looking at any of them again, he storms out of there, wishing for nothing else but some food and a few hours of sleep. When he gets to the main hall, there is barely anyone left there, thank fucking God. He grabs some food and smiles at Karen appreciatively before taking his trail to one of the tables in the back.

The furniture was never a problem in the shelter – there are lots of things just lying around in the city, either in schools or in abandoned buildings. It hadn't been that dangerous to walk around in the city before, but the last few years have been crazy. The guards seem determined to catch any rebels they could find, and so they try to stay in as much as possible, only going out on food hunts, like today. Which reminds him that he never asked Mandy and Iggy what they were doing in the city with Andrew.

 

*

 

That night, Mickey doesn't get the much-needed sleep. His brain feels like it's going to explode any second, flooding his mind with memories that are eating him alive. It's no surprise that the memories turn into nightmares.

He dreams about the night the three of them ran away from Chicago. He had been so sure that they were gonna die then. All he could think about was how he was probably leading his siblings right into the enemy's arms, but once the choice was made and they started running, there was no turning back.

No matter how much time has passed, he could still imagine how he felt – how they all felt -- when they realized they were alone, running out of supplies way faster than they expected. It was the kind of exhaustion and hunger that brings you to the thin line between sanity and madness, where every single second of every day feels unreal. Where you can't tell reality from nightmares anymore.

In his dreams, they never meet Lana. Instead, they just keep on slowly dying, and though Mandy and Iggy never blame him for taking them with him, the guilt is almost insufferable. Tonight, though, when he wakes up screaming, he knows for sure that this nightmare was one of the worst ones. Even as he sits up and blinks furiously in the dark, trying to focus on reality, he could see the image of both of his siblings' corpses as brightly as if it's happening right in front of him.

“Mickey?” a voice peeps quietly from outside his room, startling him. He tries to make out the person in his doorway but all he sees are shadows.

“Mickey, are you okay? I heard screaming.” Someone walks in then, holding a single candlelight, which is when he recognises her.

“Gina. Um, yeah. Yeah, I'm alright. Sorry for waking you up,” he says, his voice sounding rough and shaky even to himself.

Gina comes closer and sits down on the ground next to his mattress, still holding up the candle.

“I get them, too,” she says, glancing at him shortly before looking away. “Wanna talk about it?”

“Not really. Thanks, though. I thought it had stopped…” he stops himself before he starts telling her all about it. He knows it would only make him feel worse in the end. Vulnerable. But Gina understands that – she has never forced him to be more open with her like many other people had tried. He honestly loves her for it.

“Not to make you feel even worse, but… I don't think they'll ever stop. We can just learn to deal with them, I guess.”

“Yeah. Sounds about right.”

They smile at each other, Mickey's eyes finally getting used to the light. Once he takes in the state of Gina – her red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained cheeks – he knows that neither of them will be falling asleep again that night.

“Hey, um, do you wanna go for a walk?” he asks, smiling when Gina stands up immediately, dragging him up with her.

“Hell yes. The roof?”

He nods and lets her lead the way, trying to clear his mind of all the remains of the nightmare. They walk quietly through the long passageway which leads to most of the bedrooms, then through the main hall which is oddly quiet and sinister at night. They've done this many times over the years, even though Mickey's sure the others wouldn't be too pleased if they found out.

The roof of the warehouse is easily accessible from the part where they keep the car. All you have to do is climb up a ladder on the side of the wall and then up the stairs until you reach the trap-door.

Once they are outside, they make sure no one is watching them, but they are pretty much invisible to anyone since they mostly just sit around by the wall, staring up at the empty sky.

“Do you remember the stars?” she asks, and Mickey chuckles lightly. It's like a ritual to start talking about the stars when they are up here.

“Not really,” he lies. “Remind me?”

“Well,” she says, playing along. “Before, whenever the clouds weren't covering it, you could spot millions of stars in the night sky. There were constellations upon constellations. From Earth, we could only see a tiny fraction of all the stars that are out there. The sun is a star, too, did you know? It's the closest one. The only one we could still see,” she ends, her voice turning sadder when she reached that part. Mickey looks back up at the sky, trying to imagine what it would look like.

“Tell me about the constellations,” he whispers.

“I didn't know many, to be honest. Couldn't find them by myself most of the time. But there was Cassiopeia, Orion, Aquarius…” Gina's voice stuttered at the last two. Mickey can see fresh tears falling down her face and onto the roof they are sprawled across.

“I'm sorry,” he says, regretting that he made her sad again.

“No,” she laughs, wiping the tears away. “It's just been so long since we've been here. I haven't thought about the stars since.”

He contemplates changing the topic for a second, but he knows that Gina, just like him, loves these talks they share. It's like a small secret, one they can look forward to.

“Why do you think they went out?” he asks then.

“No one knows,” she says, but she knows that's not what he's asking. They've been coming up with theories ever since they became friends, trying to find some meaning in all the shit that's happened since the first signs of the attacks.

“Do you believe what the Protectors say? That we pissed the planet off?”

“Hell no,” he snorts, causing her to laugh loudly and then cover her mouth quickly, not wanting to draw any attention.

To be honest, no matter what the Protectors would say, he would never agree.

“Then why did it happen? What started the time shifts? Why did the stars disappear? And the colors?”

“Aliens,” he says, rolling his eyes when Gina scowls at him. “Come on, you live in a fucking nightmare and yet you're still afraid of them? What worse could they do to you than make you live in this world?”

“Dunno,” she mutters, still frowning. “They're fucking creepy though. I always hated them, even when we still had movies. I wouldn't come fucking  _near_  a movie with aliens.”

“Okay, scaredy-cat. Let's get inside, I think the sun is rising.”

He swiftly moves away when she tries to punch him and starts crawling to the trap-door, leaving it open for Gina. They try to move as quickly as possible so that no one would be suspicious of where they had been.

Their plan, however, is ruined when they run into Leslie right outside the main hall.

“Leslie, hi,” Gina says, looking confused when Leslie barely looks away from Mickey.

Mickey knows that Leslie must have news about the soldier because she wouldn't say anything in front of Gina, but he decides that it doesn't matter anyways. They'll have to tell everyone eventually, so why not Gina first?

“You can talk, Leslie,” he says, seeing Gina getting even more confused.

“He woke up,” is all Leslie says. Before Mickey could splash her with questions, she holds out a hand, cutting him off, “but he's asleep again. I had to give him a shot of morphine. Turns out that he had an older wound which I hadn't noticed before, and that one is badly infected.”

“Did he say something?” he asks, impatient. He couldn't understand how Leslie can just ignore the fact that the guy is an enemy, even though a little part of him admires her for it. She is a doctor first, taking care of people is her priority.

“Nothing coherent,” she replies, “just some names, and that he's sorry. I didn't let him be awake for long though, he needs to rest before you can ask him anything.”

“Okay. Okay, just… let me know, yeah?” he asks, knowing already that his plan to stay away from the soldier is ruined. He needs to get his answer, then he'll let the people decide what to do with him.

“Of course. Good morning, by the way. Do you know if Lana is on cooking duty today?”

“No idea, sorry. Um, we gotta go. But thanks.” Mickey doesn't wait for her to say anything else, just grabs Gina and walks to his room. He's grateful that Gina doesn't start asking immediately, but he can see how curious she is.

As soon as they get inside and he closes the door, she corners him.

“What was that about?”

“Sit,” he says, shrugging when she shakes her head. “Yesterday, when we came back, Brian told me that Mands, Iggy and Andrew found a soldier near the city. Said that he was badly wounded and passed out, so they brought him in. Leslie's taking care of him so that we can try to get some info once he's better.”

He tries to keep his voice neutral, but he can see Gina's face softening when she realizes what this is about.

“Oh. And are you… are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he nods, though he isn't really sure. “Don't tell anyone else yet though, okay? Brian and I agreed to keep it a secret until he talks. Then, we'll tell everyone so that we can vote and decide what to do with him. Brian, he… he gave me the right to decide, but I declined.”

“That was considerate of him, I guess, but I think you did a good thing. It's not an easy decision.”

“Yeah, whatever. I'd kill the bastard if I could, but Brian did have a point. He might be useful. Let's just leave this now and get some breakfast. I'm starving.”

 

*

 

_“Am I dead?”_

_“Are you gonna kill me?”_

_“Are they… are they all dead? Because of me? Did I kill them all?”_

_“WHERE ARE THEY?!”_

He opens his eyes, screaming.

“Hey, hey, calm down! Don't move, you'll rip your stitches. It's okay, let me give you something…”

He doesn't recognize the voice, doesn't recognize the face looking down at him. Everything looks like he's looking through a thick layer of smoke, and only when the woman in front of him touches his arm does he stop screaming.

“Where am I?” he asks, looking around frantically, realizing that everything hurts, every single movement feels like he's been set on fire.

“Shh,” the woman says and he tries to focus on her face. She's young, maybe younger than him, her hair is dark and trimmed short. He looks into her eyes but then he feels a sting in his arms and suddenly everything turns foggy, his eyelids feel too heavy, he closes his eyes…

_“We need to get the fuck away from here! I heard rumours. There are people out there, outside of this fucking place, behind the border! Why can't you just trust me, at least this once?”_

_“I'm sorry. I really am, but… I can't leave. I can't. Even if I wanted to.”_

_“Fine. Fuck you. We're leaving. And we're taking Luke and Amy with us.”_

_“It's too dangerous!”_

_“I don't care! At least I'll give them a chance to have a fucking life! Everywhere is better than here!”_

 

*

 

Leslie looks up from her book once again, her worried eyes settling on the man curled up on the floor. He can't be much older than her, she supposes. He's hardly old enough to be fighting this war. But then again, aren't they all?

She knows that others give her looks for being compassionate towards soldiers, but they don't get it. Even when she used to work for the Protectors, taking care of wounded soldiers, even when she knew the system was wrong and that they were killing innocent people, she would never refuse to help someone just because they were handed a uniform and a gun and told that they were the good guys in the pointless war they were fighting.

And so it breaks her heart to know that this man – boy, even – is probably going to die very soon. She respects Brian and Gareth as their unnamed leaders and so she didn't interfere when Brian gave Mickey the right to decide. The guilt over what happened the last time they captured someone is still burning brightly inside of her whenever she looks at Mickey, or anyone really, but that doesn't mean she can't hate this part of her job. The fact that she's only healing this boy so that he could die later… it breaks her heart.

“Luke! No, please! Amy, PLEASE! I'll do anything, just… NO!”

Leslie jumps up, startled, as the soldier's screams fill the small space. She hurries to his makeshift bed and realizes that he's still asleep, screaming and shouting the names of people he must care about. It's happened a few times over the three days that he's been here, but she decided to keep it to herself after notifying Mickey the first time. It's not like there are any major changes, anyway. Her main interest right now is to heal him and get him out of pain.

“Hey, hey, it's okay. Wake up. It's just a dream. You're okay,” she mutters the words over and over again, not knowing why suddenly she feels so protective of the boy. She kneels down onto the metal floor and wipes the sweat off his face, caressing it slightly, trying to get him to wake up from the nightmare.

Suddenly, the soldier grasps her wrist and gasps, opening his eyes in a shock. He looks around a few times before settling on her. Leslie forces herself not to panic and doesn't move her hand away – instead, she tries to look calm, collected.

“Sir? Can you hear me? My name is Leslie. You have been hurt. Can you understand me?”

It takes him a little too long to respond, but after a few seconds, he nods. She sighs in relief and tries to pull back but he's squeezing her tightly, not letting go.

“Are… are they here?” he asks, his voice barely audible from the lack of use. Only then does he realize he's still holding her and lets go slowly. Leslie reaches for a bottle of water and hands it to him, prompting him to drink. He almost chokes on it a few times but he manages to drink half a bottle before setting it down.

“How are you feeling?” she asks, worried that her patient will fall unconscious again.

“Hurts. Everything,” he hisses, reaching for the wound on his side that is still badly infected, but Leslie pats his hand away.

“Don't touch it. I cleaned the wound but it's gonna hurt for a while. The infection should subside shortly.”

The man looks down and lifts his shirt a bit, exposing the reddened skin around the gauze.

“Who are you?” he asks then, looking up at her. “Are they here?”

“I'm Leslie, a doctor. Who are you asking about?”

His face scrunches up in pain as he takes in his surroundings. “Am I being held captive?”

She decides not to respond. It's not her job, after all. “Sir, can you tell me your name?”

“No,” he says. “Am I going to die?”

“That's not up to me. Who were you asking me about?” she says, more persistently this time. If there are other soldiers out there… she needs to let someone know. They could be in danger.

But then, the strong need to protect the enemy soldier in front of her returns, hitting her like a strong wave when he holds up his shaking hands and starts shaking with sobs, choking on them until he can't hold them in anymore.

“Hey, hey, it's okay,” she says worriedly, realizing that he and everyone else is very far from okay.

“It's my fault. My fault. They died. They must have… Kill me already! Please!”

Leslie is looking at him, shocked, suddenly not knowing what to do. She should let someone know what's happening, but her heart feels like it's getting ripped in two.

Sighing, she stands up and returns with a shot of morphine. “I'm sorry,” she says before pushing the needle into the man's arm. “Sleep. It's going to be okay. I promise.”

The man starts calming down instantly, dropping back onto the mattress slowly. She smiles at him sadly as he struggles to hold his eyes open and wipes the tears staining his face.

“So… sorry. I'm sorry…” he whispers and closes his eyes.

Leslie sits there for a few more minutes, wanting to make sure he's fallen asleep. Then, she cleans the wounds again and changes the gauze. She also brings over a bucket of lukewarm water and a cloth and starts washing the man's – boy's? – face and chest, trying to wash off the layers of dirt and sand and blood. She had cleaned the areas around his wounds before, but she knows he'll heal better this way.

Once his face is as clean as it can get with the supplies she has, she finds herself thinking that he's very handsome. She's not attracted to him, but she can tell how utterly gorgeous he must have looked once. Before the things began happening… Before the war with the rebels. With them.

“Leslie? Any news?” Mickey's voice calls from the entrance, startling her for a bit.

“Mickey. Hey. Well, he was up again, same as usual. The wounds are looking better.”

“Hm.” He scowls at the man and walks up to them, eyeing him warily.

“Did he say anything?”

“No,” she lies. “Not much. He keeps saying those names from his sleep though. It's either that or 'I'm sorry'. I'll let you know when something changes.” Leslie feels a bit guilty for lying to Mickey, but she sends those thoughts away, trying to focus on the task at hand. Mickey, however, doesn't go away as he usually does. He sits in her chair while she checks on the wounds once again, solely because she wants to have something to do.

“Do you ever think about him? Your husband?”

The question shocks Leslie so much that she forgets what she was doing, staring at the piece of fabric in her hand before laying it on the ground. Her hands are shaking but she ignores it and looks at Mickey who suddenly looks apologetic.

“I'm sorry, Leslie. I shouldn't have. It's just… This whole situation…”

“It's okay. It reminds you of Eric, I suppose?” she voices it as a question but they both see that it's the obvious truth. Despite that, Mickey nods warily, not taking his eyes off the nameless soldier.

“I keep thinking about it. All the time. But it was getting better. I hate to say that because it feels like I'm forgetting him somehow… But I needed it, you know? I needed to move on. And then this,” he spits out, pointing at him. “This fucking… he just…  _appears_ , out of nowhere, and of course we take him in. And I hate myself so much for wanting to kill him because I never wanted to be in this war. I never wanted to become like them, to enjoy killing people or whatever. But it feels like it'd be an act of justice, in a way.”

Mickey sighs again and rubs his eyes, breathing shakily. Leslie can relate to how he feels. It would be so easy to let the anger win. Anger at those people for taking her husband… For making him believe in the wrong things, making him become something he was not. A monster. She could let the anger win and let it slowly consume her until there would be nothing left. She'd done it before though, which is why she can't let Mickey repeat her mistakes.

“I know you blame the Protectors for Eric, and for all the other things that have happened. God knows that we all do. But… This man, right here, is just a man. He may be a soldier, but it's obvious that he was running from something. My husband,” she starts and Mickey sends her another apologetic look which she ignores. “he was a good man in the beginning. A great man. But there were parts of him he wouldn't show to anyone. Parts of him that, in the end, helped those people turn him into a figure in their game. What I'm trying to say is that we all have those parts, and we can't say for sure what we'd do if we only ever knew their truth and considered it the ultimate one.”

“I know that he's not responsible for all of their crimes, but he's still one of them,” Mickey mutters.

“That he is. And I know why you feel so reluctant to have another prisoner after what happened. I also know that you don't actually want to kill him, though. It's just not the kind of person you are,” she says, reaching out to him gently. When he doesn't flinch away, she considers it a success.

“You're right. It's not up to me, whether he lives or dies. I just want him to tell us what he knows.”

Mickey stands up and glances at the soldier one last time before heading out of the room, but before he disappears behind the corner, Leslie calls out, “Mickey?”

He stops and she continues quickly, swallowing down the tears. “I think about him every day. I never stopped. No matter what he's done… I still miss him. Probably always will.”

Leslie's never told that to anyone, and she knows that she can trust Mickey. She knows he'll understand.

“Thank you, Leslie. For telling me. I… I miss Eric, too.”

Then, he walks out and leaves her to her thoughts, her only company the soldier's steady breathing.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title - the neighbourhood's song female robbery


	2. A Moment of Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Thank you.” So he's not asleep then. It's the second time that the soldier has said those words to her, neither of which she expected. Before she can think of something to say, however, the soldier adds quietly, his voice barely more than a whisper,
> 
> “It's Ian. My name's Ian.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All my gratitude goes to mikhailosbitch, who was kind enough to beta this chapter for me. Thank you so much!! x

 

_“How miraculous. Flight is just a fall that never finds the ground.”_

 

_***** _

__

Ever since the mission, Mickey has been waking up in the middle of the night, soaked in sweat and frightened, terrified when he remembered the images that just kept replaying in his head whenever he managed to fall asleep.

The fourth night, however, was the calmest one he's had in ages. He has no idea why the sudden change, but who is he to complain?

Days bring their own horrors with them, anyway.

“Pete broke another bone,” Mandy says as a way of greeting when she sits down next to him.

Sighing, Mickey puts down the untouched food and pushes the tray over to her. “Morning to you, too. Which one is it now?”

Mandy scowls at the food but thankfully doesn't pry, though she hands him half of the bread back. Mickey accepts and, for her sake, tries to ignore the ash-like taste.

“Forearm and some fingers. He refused the painkillers again… Tough motherfucker.”

“That he is,” he mutters, a small smile playing on his face when he remembers Pete around the time they got there. He kept trying to pick a fight with someone and everyone always refused – who would fight an old man? Mickey used to train with him some nights in secret, though. Pete knows a lot of useful shit about fights, things that the others here wouldn't stand a chance against if Pete was in his full strength.

“Mands?” he asks, “What do you know about the shit Iggy and Jackson are up to?”

“Nothing, I guess. I thought they were just fucking around, killing time, but since you guys came back, those two have been disappearing all the time. I barely even see Iggy anymore.”

Mickey just hums in reply, deciding not to pull Mandy into any of that shit. Ever since they came back he's been trying to have a talk with Iggy but it seems like his brother is doing anything he can to avoid him.

“I'll catch up with you later. Are you coming to the river today?”

“Nah, Brian said we should stay away from the usual spot. I don't want to go any further into the city.”

He nods and splits quickly, realizing that the nameless soldier must be the reason why they're suddenly making changes. He doesn't like it one bit, but no one else seems to have a problem with higher security. 

“You seen Iggy or Jackson?” he asks Lana when he spots her outside the main hall, deciding to focus his anger on the more urgent crisis.

“Not since last night, no. Brian was with them, I heard him talking to Karen before.”

“Thanks, Lana,” he says, barely stopping. It takes him a while to find Brian but once he does, he finally knows where his brother's hiding.

It should have been obvious. The few lights they managed to place in some of the rooms are all working thanks to the generator that Gareth had found in one of the houses, years ago, and Iggy and Jackson brought it back to life. It's now in one of the deepest parts of the complex, which is where he finds the two of them, absolutely unaware of his presence until he knocks on the metal door ironically.

“Hello, there. Mind if I come in?” He doesn't wait for a reply and strolls inside, noticing the various objects sprawled all around, most of them looking completely useless or broken to him.

“Mickey… Look, I know we have some unfinished business but we're kind of busy now so if you don't mind…”

“Oh, but I do,” he snarls, taking a step towards Jackson who raises his hands quickly. Mickey snorts and grabs his collar, smirking when Jackson shrinks visibly, even though he's at least a head taller than him.

“Leave him, Mickey. I'll tell you all you wanna know.”

He turns around to Iggy who is watching the scene indifferently, fidgeting with one of the cables.

“Start talking then.” He lets go of the douchebag and takes a seat by the entrance, crossing his arms across his chest impatiently.

“So, Jackson said he basically told you guys everything on the ride back. This thing he managed to steal completely changes the game. If we figure out how to get close enough to one of the DAMs without anyone knowing, we could mess with the system. It would create a hole that would take some time for the Protectors to fix. Meanwhile, we could either try to capture someone in a high enough position to answer our questions, or, with enough information, we could leak everything we know and finally expose those fuckers. We could start a revolution, take the lands back. We could stop living on the edge of civilization like some fucking fugitives.”

Mickey is taken aback by the look in his brother's eyes – it's probably the longest he's ever heard him speak. Mickey had no idea whatsoever that they were aiming for something this big and he feels a swell of pride for his brother, despite the fact that a huge portion of his brain is convinced that they have no chance to succeed.

“Fuck, say something, Mickey. This is huge,” Iggy tries again, this time barely audible.

“I… I don't know, really. It sounds awesome, sure – I have no idea how you figured this out and I'm really fucking proud of you – but it's just so risky. There is no guarantee that we'd even have a chance to get close enough to do this, and even if, what if they are prepared for it? Or what if they arrest us all?”

“We have lived in fear of getting arrested ever since we ran away, all of us,” says Jackson – Mickey totally had totally forgotten about his presence since his brother spoke. “They are getting stronger and their influence is bigger than ever. If we wait too long, we'll lose our chance. I know it's risky as hell and we aren't nearly ready enough to do it now, but we have to consider it as an option. I don't want to spend the rest of my life here.”

“Does Brian know?” he asks.

“Yeah,” says Iggy. “He's known for a while now. We told him that Jackson was gonna try to steal the key, it was all planned. We didn't count on it being secured – the guard was supposed to leave it there but it seems like he chickened out.”

“You planned it?! We almost got fucking caught! I can't believe that Brian… and how did you convince the guard to help us?”

Iggy looks at Jackson, prompting him to talk. Mickey is getting more frustrated with every passing second. 

“Talk. Now.”

“I… I know the guy, okay? He helped me when I ran away a few months ago. He's still loyal to the Protectors and all that, but he kind of had a thing for my mom so he's basically known my family for years. He felt like he owed it to me after mom got killed in that riot, so…”

“Oh,” Mickey says at least, unsure how to respond to that. “You sure he wouldn't betray you or anything?”

“I never told him any details – he thinks I'm acting alone. I just asked him to bring it and leave it there. He doesn't know about you guys.”

“Cool. I still think you two were dumb as fuck to even start with this shit, but it's not like we have any other ideas right now. But you need to talk to Brian. I think that everyone should know what we're dealing with here.” Mickey grins at his brother and rolls his eyes slightly when Jackson actually seems relieved.

“I'll talk to him. Thanks for not freaking out, bro.”

“This was not him freaking out yet? Seriously?” Jackson mutters under his breath, causing both brothers to laugh in unison. Oh boy, if he only knew.

 

*

 

“Look, if you don't cooperate, it's going to get even worse. I'm trying to help you here. If I don't clean the wounds…”

“Why don't you just drug me again, huh? You're good at that.”

Leslie sighs in frustration and gives up, putting the tools away. Her heart is beating in her throat so she tries to ignore the guilt and fear that someone might walk in.

“Why are you refusing my help?” she tries again, nicer this time, but it only earns her a scoff from the soldier who seems much more in shape today. He's been awake since the morning and it's already nearing midnight. Andrew has been helping her carry him around when he was weaker and barely conscious, but now he seems determined to make her life a living hell.

“Help, right. Keep calling it that,” he snarls angrily, staring at the same spot as the past few hours.

“Look, all I'm trying to do is help you heal. I don't care who you are, what you did or which side you're on. All I care about is that you're my patient and that  _you need my help_.”

Another few minutes pass and Leslie starts losing hope for an answer, but then the soldier looks up at her for the first time that day.

“You lied,” he says, frowning. “Whenever someone comes and asks about me, you lie. Why?”

Leslie feels the panic building up again and she tries not to let it show, though she's never been a good actress.

“Answer me and I'll let you do it,” the soldier says at last, never once looking away, and she finds herself nodding shortly.

“Tell me your name first,” she says then, hopefully. When the soldier says nothing and looks away, ready to ignore her again, she lets it go.

“I wasn't actually lying. I told them that you've been waking up for short amounts of time, which is true. All I did was not mention that you've talked to me. It's likely that they'd try to interrogate you immediately and your state is still very fragile. I'm acting in your health's best interest, and since you're no threat to us like this, I don't see what's wrong with that.”

 Nothing could have surprised her more than the small chuckle that escaped the soldier's lips, followed by a wince of pain.

“Why is that funny?” she asks, actually getting frustrated. She'd appreciate some gratitude.

“I don't know,” he says, suppressing another fit of laughter. “It seems like you're actually telling the truth, is all. Or you're just a very good liar.”

“Of course I'm telling the truth,” she frowns. “Not everyone in the world is playing games. Now lie down and let me do my job.”

Not saying another word, the soldier does as told. Leslie is quiet while she goes through the motions, aware of the constant track of her movements. Though it should make her feel uneasy, being watched like that, she finds herself not minding it at all.

“Done,” she says, taking the gauze away after a moment of deciding. “I'll let it breathe for today but you need to be extra careful. It should heal way faster like this.”

“I'm not dying anymore?” he asks. Leslie shakes her head, noting that the soldier's expression hasn't changed. Like he was asking about the weather.

“When are you gonna tell them?”

Shi bites her lip and shrugs, standing up so that she could find something to do other than kneeling there.

“I don't know,” she admits. “You know, it would be a lot easier for you if you just told them everything. We aren't cruel people. Most of us despise violence. They could have killed you the second they spotted you and yet they brought you here.”

“I'm useless,” he says, looking around sheepishly as if he's shared something he didn't mean to.

“How's that?”

“Forget it. You can tell them, you know. I can handle it. It's not like they'll let me live long enough to enjoy my good health, anyway.”

Leslie wants to deny that, but she knows that it's a possibility, one very likely to happen, even. She feels torn between wanting to save him – because he's just a man, just a person, just like the rest of them – and the need to protect her friends, the knowledge that he's one of the people who have lied to them and killed their friends and who wouldn't hesitate to kill them if they had the chance.

She doesn't even notice the few tears that have fallen down her cheeks until she sees the look on the soldier's face. He looks surprised, startled even. Leslie turns around and wipes the tears away angrily. This shouldn't make her feel so conflicted, damn it. It's not even up to her to decide.

“Was I alone?” he asks eventually, his voice small and careful. It's the first question he's asked her, one that she almost forgot about. He still cries out the names at night, sometimes.

“Yes. That's what they told me, at least. Three of our people found you by the river.”

“River…?” he asks, confusion written all across his face. “I got that far?” It didn't sound like a question meant for her and so she continues.

“They said that you were armed at first, but you didn't shoot at them, which is probably why they haven't killed you then and there. Then you fell unconscious so they brought you here.”

Leslie feels a wave of compassion towards the soldier who suddenly seems so lost, so confused. It's like he has put down the mask, revealing the fact that he is terrified.

“Were there…” he rasps, clearing his throat when almost no sound comes out, “were there any bodies?”

“I don't know. They didn't say,” she says, though she thinks that it's unlikely that they wouldn't mention anything.

“Can you ask them? The people who found me? Please. If I'm gonna die here, I  _have_  to know.”

Maybe it's the look of utter desperation on his face that forces her to nod firmly, a strong feeling of determination to keep her promise settling in her stomach when she says, “Of course. I'll see what I can do.”

Then, just like that, the soldier's face becomes expressionless again. Leslie leaves him be and gets back to her files, trying to get her mind back to it. It's a few minutes later that she hears a quiet “Thank you.” It's barely more than just a whisper. She doesn't turn around, just smiles sadly, wishing once again for the world to be just a little less cruel. 

A few hours later, when everyone is long asleep, Leslie calls Andrew in, knowing that he won't ask any questions. She asks him to help the soldier walk. They get out of her office as quietly as possible, first stopping at the make-shift bathroom. Leslie covers his entire torso in thick waterproof gauze and allows him to take a shower. He's still unsteady on his legs but it seems as though his body is healing faster and faster with every passing hour.

Once he is finished, she hands him some clean clothes that Andrew was kind enough to share wordlessly, turning around to give him at least an illusion of privacy.

She doesn't know why she's doing all this, but the more she thinks about what will happen after the others find out he's getting better, the angrier she gets – the anger isn't aimed at anyone in particular. It's just this awful, bitter taste in the back of her throat… She feels betrayed by the world, robbed of the future they could have had.  _It's just so unfair_.

The walk back to her office-slash-hospital is a lot slower. Even though it's obvious that a shower and a walk made the soldier feel better, Leslie can see that he is barely walking, even with Andrew's support. When he trips over his own feet the fourth time in a row, Andrew stops and takes him into his arms, ignoring the weak, mumbled protests. As soon as he lays him onto the matress, the man's eyes fall shut, a soft snore coming out of his mouth.

“You're a good person, Lee. Better than most.”

Leslie tries to catch Andrew's gaze but the man's back is already out of the door before she can make a single sound.

_I'm trying. I have to. It's the least I can do after…_

“Thank you.” So he's not asleep then. It's the second time that the soldier has said those words to her, neither of which she expected. Before she can think of something to say, however, the soldier adds quietly, his voice barely more than a whisper, “It's Ian. My name's Ian.”

 

*

 

If you asked Mickey whether he could picture himself spending days with his brother and some dumbass kid who joined them just a few months ago, putting together theories and coming up with the craziest shit, learning things and terms and all kinds of shit he's never even dreamed of, but, most surprisingly of all, actually having fun… Well, suffice it to say, he'd say you are the off-the-rails, batshit kind of crazy.

Hell, before, he barely registered that Iggy even had a sense of humor, for fuck's sake! He had no idea that the guy is basically a technical genius, or that his sentences are dripping with some next-level kind of sarcasm whenever he actually says more than one full sentence.

He still thinks Jackson is a douche, though. Nothing will ever change that.

It's all so new, so different from his usual routine, that he doesn't even realize that a week came by since the mission. Had it not been for Leslie turning up that day, he would have almost forgotten all about the captured soldier.

“Leslie,” he says, confused when she stops him on his way to the main hall. He stares at her for a second before it strikes him that the only reason for this could be…

“Is he awake?” he asks, suddenly way more interested. His mind is back to survival mode. He's already gathering a list of questions he wants to beat out of the dude before putting a bullet through his forehead.

“Yes,” she admits, her voice hesitant. Mickey doesn't pay it any attention though – he's already on his way to her office when she grips his arm suddenly.

“I made a promise to him before I came to you. It's something I have to do before you talk to him.”

Mickey opens his mouth and closes it when no sound comes out. His brows are furrowed and before he can even summon the anger, utter confusion settles in.

“What?” he blurts out loudly, noting the way Leslie flinches away from him. That causes him to take a deep breath instead, try to calm himself down. Wait for an explanation.

“Look, he is no threat to us, and he is aware of the fact that after you get your answers, you'll want to kill him. Which is why he asked me for one small favour. Call it a last wish, if you want.”

“What the fuck do I care about what the asshole wants?! I thought that you, of all people, wouldn't feel fucking compassion towards one of  _them_.” He knows he went too far again, judging by the flash of hurt on Leslie's face, but he can't back away now. His hands are shaking with fury, with the urge to destroy, to hurt.

“Mickey,” she pleads this time, settling her expression back to calmness. “I just need to speak to Iggy for a minute. It won't take long. I went right to you because you asked me to update you as soon as something changes, but I have to insist. Please, come with me before you go to him.”

He just looks at her wordlessly for a few seconds, which turn into a minute. It takes a huge effort for him to nod, and he only does it because he respects the hell out of Leslie. He has to believe that she's got a reason for doing this.

They walk together to Iggy's room and Mickey finds himself wondering how could his brother be related to an enemy soldier's last wish. Hopefully, he won't have to wonder for long.

“Iggy, you here?” he calls out before thumping on the large, metal door. He guesses it could have been green once, though there's no way to tell now. Not when the word “color” has become more of an abstract term than anything else.

Instead of answering, Iggy opens the door with a grin, a flash of confusion showing on his face when he spots Leslie.

“Hey guys. What's up?”

“I need to talk to you. Would you mind if we came inside?” Leslie asks politely.

Iggy shrugs and opens the door more, stepping back so that the two can walk inside. His room is way smaller than any other Mickey has seen from within, though he knows that Iggy prefers it that way. It took him a lot of getting used to in the beginning when they moved into the spacious complex – all that free space was making him feel even more alone, even smaller. Not that he'd say any of that to Mickey, but he noticed, of course. Did they always do that? Notice each other but not say anything? Mickey just couldn't tell.

“So, what's this about?” Iggy asks once they all sit down onto the old rusty couch he managed to drag down there.

“It's about the day you found the soldier that's currently in my custody. He's woken up properly today and I need to ask you something on his behalf.” Leslie waits for Iggy to nod before continuing. “I've already asked Andrew but he said he doesn't remember anything. My question is… were there any bodies when you found him?”

Whatever Mickey was expecting, it's not this. He doesn't even have enough time to be confused though.

“I'm not sure…” Iggy says, brows furrowed. “It was getting dark, you know? Wait… Yeah, yeah I think I saw a body. A woman… But it was pretty far away, I could have been wrong.”

Leslie breathes in sharply and Mickey is surprised to see tears gathering in her eyes before she blinks them away. “Thank you,” she says, “are you sure there was only one?”

“Yes.  _If_  there was one. I could go check it out, if you want. It's not that far away, I could be back in a few hours.” Iggy seems eager to help, even though he doesn't know what's it all for, exactly. He doesn't seem to care about the soldier at all, as if he didn't even exist.

“That's… very kind of you, Iggy. I'm not sure what Mickey thinks…?”

Honestly, Mickey doesn't know either. Just a few minutes ago, he was dead set on not letting Leslie fulfil the soldier's wish, then he went through with it anyway. Now, he finds himself even more curious than before. Why was he asking about bodies? Did he lose someone?

“Iggy, you don't have to do this, man,” he says as a way of letting Leslie know that he won't interfere.

“It's cool, I hate these fucking walls. I can actually go right now if you don't need anything else?” he asks, turning to Leslie this time.

“No, that's all. Thank you. Please, come to me once you've returned.”

“Will do,” he says and salutes awkwardly and a realization hits Mickey, causing him to smirk awkwardly.  _He likes her._

Once Iggy leaves them to let Brian know he's leaving –  _technically_ , Gareth is the smarter of the two and  _technically_  he's the one in charge, but everyone prefers to deal with Brian when it comes to situations like this one – they start walking towards Leslie's office, the curiosity already eating at Mickey's insides.

“So what's this all about?” he asks when he can't stand it any longer.

“You'll see. I'm not entirely sure, he wasn't making much sense. Maybe he won't even tell us,” she says, shrugging. Mickey lets it be for the time being and focuses on not tripping over his own feet in the dark.

When they get there, he greets Andrew shortly and follows Leslie inside. His eyes immediately travel to the corner occupied by the soldier. He's actually sitting this time, with his back leant against the metal wall. He looks healthier, not as deathly pale and dirty as the last time Mickey's seen him. If his cheekbones were any sharper, they'd be cutting through his freckled cheeks, which brings his starved-looking shape even more into focus.

Mickey is startled for a second when he realizes that the soldier is watching him too, not looking away when their eyes connect. Mickey is used to people not being able to hold eye contact with him for long, but this guy doesn't seem intimidated in the slightest. If anything, he looks indifferent. Bored.

That is, until Leslie speaks.

“I've talked to the man who found you. Asked him… asked him about the bodies.”

The soldier's eyes widen and he gasps, the expressionless façade fading instantly. He seems like he's torn between wanting to jump up and curling up in himself. “Tell me,” he says, his voice firm despite the state he's in.

Leslie sits down on her chair, her face sad, gentle. “He said he's not entirely sure, but there may have been a body. He's out there right now, I'll let you know once we know for sure.”

The guy chokes out something inaudible, then closes his eyes and just breathes for a few seconds. Once he's collected himself, he looks up at Leslie again, completely ignoring Mickey's presence who, frankly, has no idea how to feel.

“Just one? Was it… was it a kid?”

Okay, now he can't deny the fact that he feels fucking sorry for the guy. The urge to bash his skull in hasn't lessened, but there is a tiny part of him that wishes that the man in front of him didn't have to ask such a question, ever. No one deserves that.

Leslie is crying for real now, quietly, but she shakes her head firmly. “No. He said it was a woman.”

The soldier looks relieved, though the feeling gets replaced by pain quickly.

“Thank you. You have no idea… Just. Fuck, I have no idea why you did that. Fuck, fuck, fuck, where  _are_ they?!”

“Who?” Mickey blurts out before thinking better of it, and the soldier snaps out of the stream of swears, looking up at him with so much disgust that it surprises Mickey.

“Like you fucking care. I thought you were here to kill me, not to ask stupid fucking questions that you can't be dumb enough to think I'd actually answer. So spare me your morbid curiosity and get it over with.” All the vulnerability and grief reflexing on the soldier's face is now replaced by something Mickey can't put a finger on. He'd expect hatred, sure, or loathing, but the guy's looking at him like he's nothing, like he's the monster here.

“Whoa, back the fuck off, would you? Fucking forgive me for being  _morbidly curious_. And no, I'm not here to kill you. I'm here to ask you questions, questions that you are going to answer. Is that clear?” He doesn't know why he can't seem to work up back to the anger he's felt before, why the words don't seem to make him frustrated enough to snap. Mostly he just feels tired, suddenly not wanting to deal with any of this. Being on a receiving end of one of those looks is making his stomach twist.

“Yeah, right. Why the fuck would I, huh? Give me one good reason,” the soldier scoffs and smirks coldly.

“I'm so fucking fed up with this shit!” Mickey yells then, finally feeling the anger coursing through his veins. “So you have a sob story, cry me a fucking river, who doesn't? My only concern right now is that you're one of them. Killing you would be a fucking mercy, opposed to the monstrosities you and your people have done.”

“Ah, I like this part. You know, the one when you act like you know me? Fucking hilarious.”

Mickey wants so badly to punch that smug look off the guy's face. The only reason he doesn't is that he sees the façade crumbling in front of him. The soldier is just barely holding on.

“Are you denying it?” he asks, despite himself hoping that it is all a mistake, that he is wearing the uniform by accident, that they can let him go and forget about all this.

“Look, I'm not telling you shit. Why don't you put a bullet in my head and end both of our miseries, huh? At least do something useful.”

“What, are you trying to provoke me so that I'd kill you? Is that what you want? Yeah well, good luck with that. You're not getting the easy way out. Listen to me!” he shouts, towering over the man. “Too many of my friends have died. Too many  _people_ have died. The world has turned to shit and Protectors just keep everyone in the dark and force their fucked up system onto every naïve civilian that still trusts them. If you think I'm going to sit on my ass and watch, you're fucking stupid.”

There is a flash of some emotion on the soldier's face, something Mickey can't identify, and it doesn't turn back into the mask again. He looks beaten. Like he's giving up.

“I'm the stupid one? Look at me, man. You've seen the state they brought me in. You've just heard that my sister was fucking  _killed_. Who do you think did it?”

 _Hope_ , Mickey realizes. The tiny flicker of hope, or desperation, maybe, that the soldier is trying so hard to hide.

He knows it could all be an act. It's the most likely possibility – the most rational one. He should be drawing his gun now, he  _should_  be. But he's not. Instead, Mickey studies the man's face thoroughly, looking for a single sign that would betray he's trying to fool them.

“What are you talking about?” he asks, with as much venom as he can muster.

Before the soldier can reply, however, Iggy bursts into the office, breathing heavily.

“Leslie? Hey Mickey, hey… um. Never mind. I ran so that I could be here early, I figured it's kind of a time-sensitive…”

“Iggy,” Leslie interrupts him gently.

“Oh. Yeah, sorry. Well, I was right – it was definitely a body, a woman in her late twenties maybe.”

The soldier breathes in sharply as he asks, “Just her? Was she the only one?”

“Yeah, man,” Iggy answers. “I checked the whole area twice but I haven't found any other bodies. And, um…”

“What is it?” Mickey sighs when Iggy starts fidgeting.

“Me and Walt… I took him with me. Um, we took the body. It seemed wrong to just leave her out there, you know? With the animals and all that… Thought we could bury her or something.”

They all look at the soldier whose eyes seem to be glued to Iggy, his expression unreadable.

It's Leslie that finally breaks the silence. “I think that was very thoughtful of you, Iggy. Thank you for doing this.”

“Can I see her?” the soldier says at last. “Just want to say goodbye. It'd mean a lot if you could bury her somewhere. I'd never expect any of you to do this, so… Thank you.” He turns to Mickey once everyone hums in agreement and says, “After that, I'll answer all of your questions. I think you'll be interested in my story. All I ask is to be buried by my sister in case you don't believe me and shoot me before I could finish.”

Mickey isn't sure how to react, so he says nothing. They call for Andrew so that he can help the soldier walk and Leslie goes to alert Brian so that they can clear everyone out. People are getting suspicious but now is certainly not a good time to tell them they've been living with a Protector under their roof for almost a week.

Iggy leads them up to the warehouse where they left the body. It's been some time and they literally did it last minute. The body seems grotesque and almost too small to be a grown woman. The soldier stands wordlessly next to her, half-leaning on Andrew, face blank. He kneels down then and reaches out, almost touching her before pulling back.

“She was pregnant,” he says then, and neither of them knows what to say. It's like a heavy weight over them all, suffocating them. Mickey looks at the body and tries to imagine the woman alive and happy, raising the baby that never even got a chance to be born.

“The world is fucked,” Andrew says, surprising them all, and they hear the soldier chuckle lightly.

“That's exactly the kind of words she would have wanted to be spoken at her funeral. The world is, indeed, completely fucked. Maybe it's good that she's gone.”

They bury the body behind the warehouses, on a small field where they've buried the others. There haven't been many, but in such a little group, it feels like hundreds. At least they don't have to bother with digging – the holes are covered with stones, making it easier since none of them feel safe being outside for long that close to the shelter.

On the way back to their warehouse, Mickey finds it hard to concentrate on anything. He's so uncertain about everything. The feelings inside of him are mingling and he wishes he could go back to his life a few weeks ago, with no mysterious, nameless Protectors who might not be who they seem.

At least the soldier promised to tell him the truth. As soon as they get down, however, they stumble upon Cat and Gina, both of who freeze in shock.

“Who's that?” Cat asks, noting how the soldier is leaning against Andrew, her eyes jumping from him to Mickey and to Iggy before settling on the soldier again.

“You'll find out soon, Cat, now let us through,” Mickey says impatiently. Why did this have to happen now?

“So it's true?” she growls in response, taking a step closer. “There have been rumours, Mickey. And this proves that it's all true, right? That we have a Protector walking inside our  _home_! Why the fuck is he still breathing?!”

“Mickey?” Gina asks in shock, “Is this true?”

“Fuck,” he mutters to himself, “look, we're kind of in the middle of something important. I'll tell you everything but you need to let us through first.”

“Like hell we will!” Cat laughed dryly, backing away. “You can't keep something like this a secret. People deserve to know.”

Before any of them could do anything, she was already running away from them, deeper inside.

“Fuck!” Mickey curses loudly, pacing nervously. This is not how he had expected it to go. Gina is still standing there, arms crossed. She looks betrayed and hurt, and angry, of course. But it's not Mickey's fault, is it?!

“I told you, we have it under control! Causing panic would be…”

“Panic?! You're such a fool, Brian! You can't just…”

The voices are creeping closer and soon both Cat and Brian appear, followed by Lana, Jackson and Karen.

“Bring him in,” Cat says as soon as she spots Mickey, not stopping until she's right in front of him. “Bring him to the main hall. Let the people decide.”

“Cat, we have kept this a secret for a _reason_ … we need to interrogate him, get some answers!”

“You can do that. In the main hall.”

Mickey sighs and looks at the soldier who looks like it's not even him they're talking about, then at Andrew. “Fine,” he says, knowing he's been defeated.

The walk to the hall is not nearly long enough. Everyone is already inside – Cat must have informed them before, judging by the hissing and cursing as soon as the group walks into the room.

“Shut up!” Brian shouts, causing the people to finally calm down. “As you all know, thank you very much, Cat, some of us have been keeping a secret for a while. A week ago, Andrew, Mandy and Iggy captured one of the Protectors. He was badly hurt and they brought him in. He only woke up today and I gave Mickey the right to decide what to do with him. He refused, however, but he agreed to interrogate him. I have no information as of how that went yet.”

Several people start cursing again and a few shouts of disagreement can be heard. Things such as, “You had no right to keep it a secret!” or “Why did you let Mickey decide?”

To that, Brian replies, “Mickey had every right to make that decision. The last time, we made it for him and you all know how that went. Repeating the same mistakes is not what we should aim for.”

After that, the shouts stop, though the people are still murmuring. Mickey steps forward and clears his throat. 

“I think that every single one of you knows how much I hate the Protectors. We all do, and for a good reason. I wouldn't hesitate to kill a monster like that if I had the chance.”

“Yet you let him live!” someone shouts and Mickey continues.

“Yes. I wouldn't do that if I didn't have a good reason, would I? Look, I've been trying really hard to look at that guy and see the monster I expected him to be. For all I know, that could turn out to be true, but that's the thing – I don't know yet. I think he deserves a chance to talk.”

“I agree with Mickey,” Iggy says hurriedly, always the one to support his brother. Mandy, Leslie and Brian say the same. There are still people yelling for them to kill the soldier then and there, but they are outnumbered.

Mickey glances at him and hopes that he'll be willing to talk in front of all of them. And that his story will somehow, magically make this all out to be a misunderstanding. It almost surprises him how much he wishes not to have to kill him – not to want to kill him.

“Alright, let him speak!” Brian yells then. He asks Andrew to help the soldier walk up to the front. He seems weak, weaker than while he was watching his sister's body getting buried just a few minutes ago, but he holds his head high when he speaks.

“I understand your reason for wanting to kill me,” he says, looking straight ahead. “If this had happened a few days ago, I wouldn't even attempt to stop you. I would encourage it. After the things I've been through, seeking death seemed like a sweet reward. But I was… shocked,” he says, glancing at Leslie and Mickey and Iggy, even Andrew. “These people,” he says, gesturing towards them weakly, “have shown me kindness despite the fact that I was wearing the uniform of people who have ruined so many lives. Maybe it's stupid and I'll pay for it later, but it gave me hope. Hope that maybe it's worth it to try and fight for my life, to… to tell the truth.”

The room is completely silent – even those who wanted to see bloodshed are just staring, waiting.

The soldier takes another breath and says, “My name is Ian Gallagher. I was seventeen when the first attack happened, but I joined the army anyway – I used my brother's identity just so that I could get in there. I had these… illusions about what it would be like. How we were gonna save the world.”

“Yeah, good fucking job, man,” someone mutters from behind but no one pays attention to them.

Ian goes on. “During that time, all the recruits and soldiers were being trained specifically for these new conditions. I liked it at first – thought that the system was meant to help people. We were never told the details, or how it would affect the people outside The Central. We were trained to keep everything in order, to not let anyone threaten the new balance. I was starting to get suspicious then, but my belief in the military outran those thoughts. That was until… until I was chosen to be a part of a more secret program. A crew that was researching the attacks and what caused them… that was after the second one happened as well.”

“This is interesting and all, but what does that have to do with us not killing you?” Cat asks, her voice still furious.

“I'm getting there,” Ian says. “The things I found out while working as a part of the program terrified me. I had no idea how the civilians were suffering, how the things we did were affecting them. The hunts on rebels were something I didn't want to believe, but as time went on, I was expected to do all of those things. And I just… couldn't.”

“What did you do?” Mickey asks quietly, meeting Ian's eyes.

“I ran away,” he says. The whole room is quiet for a second before it erupts into a fit of yells. Suddenly, no one seems to believe him. Mickey is still looking at Ian, trying to find the answer – anything – in his eyes, his face.

“Let him talk!” Brian yells, signalling for Ian to continue.

“There are more of us,” he says. “Soldiers who disagree with the way things are. If anyone found out, something awful would happen to us all. The kind of stuff they only have reserved for traitors. But yeah, I definitely couldn't stay there, so I decided to go. I… I convinced my sister to take her kids and come with me,” he grits out, his voice breaking at the mention of his sister. “I knew there were rebels somewhere, and I knew that we'd be safe if we got to them. We didn't have a plan, we just ran. They caught us in the city… we didn't even know we were this close. They killed my sister. I have no idea where my nephew and niece are. It feels unreal that I have, at last, found you.”

Mickey doesn't even try to hide the shock. Soldiers who are on their side? Could it really be?

“Well played,” Cat says stepping forward until she's face to face with Ian. She stares at him with disgust, hatred even. “How long have they trained you for this role? Were you promised some kind of award if you manage to convince us poor, naïve souls about your fantasy of a story?”

“I'm telling the truth,” Ian says, not backing away an inch. “If you don't believe me, I have no way to force you into it.”

“I sure as hell don't,” she spits out, turning around. “Do you?!”

The response is a mixed one. The people can't seem to decide on just one outcome and Mickey is becoming nervous. Should he trust Ian? He believes him, he's sure of that. But he's still afraid that Cat is right, that it is all a game.

“Bullshit,” Iggy says. “When we found him, he was barely alive. He literally passed out as soon as we got close enough, and he had a chance to shoot us before but he didn't. I found his sister's body – we just buried her before Cat made a scene. I don't know about you, but I don't see why the Protectors would almost kill one of their own if he hadn't betrayed them. I trust him.”

Once again, Mickey is extremely glad to have Iggy in his life. His words make him see things more clearly.

“I believe Ian too,” he says, and then, one by one, people state their verdicts. In the end, more people end up being on Ian's side. After that, Cat storms out of the room and the rest reluctantly gets back to their business.

“What do we do now?” Brian asks, even though everyone expects him to decide.

“He needs to rest. He's barely standing. No matter what, he's still my patient. You can make your big decisions later. Andrew, would you, please?” Leslie blurts out and Andrew follows her promptly, supporting Ian on their walk to her office.

“You did the right thing, Mickey.”

He turns around and sees Mandy grinning at him. He smiles back, sighing.

“I sure hope so.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked this one!! xx  
> Next chapter should be up next Thursday
> 
> Chapter title is from The Neighbourhood's song - A Moment of Silence


	3. Is there somebody who can watch you?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The shouted thoughts inside his head such as _the world would be better off without you_ keep getting interrupted by whispered _you promised to fight. you promised to make a change._
> 
> Ian doubts he could ever do something to stop this. He doubts any of them can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks to mikhailosbitch for being the best beta!!

 

 

_“There are days when I cannot find the sun even though it_ _'s right outside my goddamn window.”_

 

_***** _

__

As nice as it was to pretend that the whole situation could be solved so easily, that fantasy just ended. Whenever Mickey finds himself in one of the main spaces, or even if he is just passing a group of people on his way to doing more important shit, he is met with murmurs and looks, causing them to quiet down as soon as he is too close. It reminds him too much of last year, when everyone was afraid to set him off, to say the wrong thing and cause him to finally snap.

To say the least, it's not the most pleasant time in his life. Cat and the few others who have voted against letting the soldier – Ian, he reminds himself – live amongst them until decided otherwise are still sending him nasty looks, as if it was all his fault – as if it hasn't been a public vote.

He understands why they think it's unwise for him to be so engaged in the problem, but that doesn't mean he has to tolerate it.

It's not even been three full days since the vote when he overhears a conversation – or a screaming match, to be exact.

“I can't believe how you can be this  _stupid_! It's so fucking obvious that he's playing us. For all we know, he could have killed that woman who he pretends to be grieving and right now, as we speak, he could be gathering information and sending it all to his bosses in The Central!”

It doesn't take long to recognise Cat's ear-ripping voice – he's grown to hate its sound over the last few days. Mickey doesn't waste any more time and follows it until he's standing right in front of their storage room, unnoticed by the people inside just yet.

There's Cat, Brian, Gareth, Gina, Iggy and Jackson. Gareth is rubbing his temples and pacing around the room while the others seem like they'd rather be anywhere else.

“For the last fucking time, Cat,” Gareth says, still pacing, “We had a public vote. You were there. What you're saying is, in my opinion, highly unlikely – it's been almost two weeks since he got here. Do you think we'd still be alive if he was sending stuff about us to The Central?”

“Yeah, I agree,” Mickey jumps in before anyone can speak up.

“You stay away from this, Mickey,” Cat snarls in his direction, visibly frustrated by his presence.

“Or what?” he asks, stepping into the room, “What are you planning to do, exactly? Break into Leslie's office at night and slit his throat?”

“It's not the worst option.”

They stare at each other for a full minute, silent. Mickey hates the fact that they're arguing like this. Both Cat and Gina mean a lot to him, always have, and it hurts to see their already fragile group breaking into a fractured mess.

“Look,” he says then, holding up his hands in defence. “I'm not saying that we should tell him everything about us and suddenly start trusting him. All I say is that, judging by what he's told us, he deserves a chance.”

“He's lying,” she responds, still looking ready to bash some skulls.

“You don't know that. What about the benefit of the doubt, huh? We're not animals, Cat. We're not monsters.”

She chuckles dryly then, and Mickey knows what she's about to say next.

“You're right – they're the monsters here. You know what, Mickey? You're not the only one who lost someone that day. How can you not want every single one of them dead?”

“I do,” he says. “I want them to pay for everything they've done to us. But killing a single person won't change shit – especially not if that person lost everything, just like we did.”

“So he says.”

“What makes you think he's lying? We don't have any valuable information anyway, the Protectors have no reason to send a soldier here. If they knew where we are, we'd already be dead. If nothing else, this I am certain of.” 

Up until now, everyone except for Mickey and Cat tried to stay out of it, but his last statement strikes them all. It really makes no sense for Protectors to act like this.

Cat doesn't reply to that, but she doesn't stop glaring at Mickey. Gina grabs her wrist gently, causing Cat to take in a shaky breath and look away.

“I'm not burying any more of my friends. If you all want to keep him here, so be it. But if it turns out that he's a fucking spy, the blood will be on your hands.”

Aiming the last part specifically at Mickey – knowing that it's going to hurt like nothing else she could say would, she turns around and starts half-running out of the storage room, but she stops in the doorway, noticing Leslie standing there.

“Why is everyone fucking eavesdropping around here?!” she says in frustration as she tries to press herself past Leslie, but the woman's grip on her shoulder stops her in her tracks. Leslie holds her gaze until Cat hisses and steps back, looking at her in expectation. “What?”

“I have proof to support what Mickey's saying,” she says, causing everyone to turn their attention to her.

“What do you mean, what proof?” asks Gareth, eager to get the situation over with.

“There have been accusations that Ian might be a spy, if I've heard correctly. That is impossible. We all know that Protectors have a way of communicating, sending messages – we never knew how, though.”

“Exactly! He could have a whole army coming to get us!”

“He can't,” Leslie replies patiently. “I know how they communicate. I've known since we lost Eric,” she says, looking at Mickey apologetically. He ignores the twitch of pain and waits for her to continue.

“I never considered the information important enough to share, and to be honest, I wasn't completely sure. Now I am, though. When they join the forces, they get a communicating device implanted. It's not on a usual place that would have been easy to spot. They implant it deep inside, right under the soldier's ribs.”

“So?!” Cat asks in frustration, but Mickey already knows. Of course.

“Ian was brought in here with an infected wound on his right side. It was obvious that it was caused by a knife. I thought it was a stab wound at first, but I was wrong. Ian himself carved the device out – it's a miracle that he's alive, and that he was able to stand the pain.”

“Are you sure?” Brian asks her, his eyebrows lifted high enough to look comical. “I've seen that wound and it was a complete mess.”

“That happens when you try to dig inside your own abdomen with a knife and try to find a device no bigger than a button, don't you think?” Leslie says calmly, though her face looks hard as a stone. “That man is not our enemy. He risked everything to get to people like us – he lost his family and nearly got himself killed in the process. We had a right to be doubtful at first, sure, but we've been treating him like he's nothing. How does that make us any different than the people we hate?”

“Alright folks, I think we've heard enough. It was decided that Ian gets to stay alive, with us. If anyone has a problem with that,” Brian says, looking at Cat the whole time, “You know where the door is.”

Cat keeps looking at Leslie like she's just seen the ghost, but doesn't react otherwise.

Then, Gina speaks for the first time. “I wanted him gone as soon as we caught you guys carrying him inside. But I trust Leslie. And I trust Mickey. Which, I guess, means that I trust Ian, too.”

Mickey smiles at her, grateful that she can finally look him in the eyes. It's been killing him when she would just pass him in the halls, clinging to Cat like Mickey himself was dangerous. He knows that she was just afraid, but it hurt nonetheless.

“Don't you all have something to do? This staring contest is getting on my nerves,” Gareth mutters under his breath when everyone just keeps standing there, which seems to set them into motion. The room starts to empty out slowly, with Leslie leaving as soon as Gareth ends the sentence. Mickey has half a mind to follow her so that they could discuss all this, but he stops when he realizes that it's just him, Cat and Gina there now.

Gina glances at the two of them and, smiling at Mickey, walks out, leaving them behind. When Mickey looks at Cat, he sees the anger turn into exhaustion, the fire in her eyes going out and getting replaced by pain.

“Am I a monster, like them? For wanting to kill him – all of them?” she asks, still not looking at Mickey, but her voice is just a ghost of a whisper, broken and filled with fear.

“Of course not,” he finds himself saying. “I get it, Cat. It doesn't make us any less human.”

“How can you stand it?” she chokes out, her eyes filling with tears. “How can you look at him and not see the soldier that killed Eric? It's all I can think about, ever since you brought him in. I have nightmares about waking up and finding one of you dead, and when I wake up, it doesn't end.”

“We were stupid to let Eric go in there alone. This is different, though. The only person who we can blame for Eric's death is the monster that killed him, and he's dead. It's never going to happen again. I won't let it.”

When Cat finally breaks into sobs, he does the only thing he can. He's by her side in seconds, hugging her close, knowing that both of them are thinking about him. Cat lost a brother in anything else but blood. He lost something he never allowed himself to hope for.

“I missed you, Mickey. I'll back off now. I still don't trust that man, but Gina was right. I trust you.”

“I missed you, too. Come on, before someone sees that you have feelings and all that.”

“Prick,” she laughs through the tears, smacking his arm. “Let's go then.”

 

*

 

“I can walk just fine, you know,” Ian says to Andrew who keeps supporting him whenever he has to make his way to the bathroom and back – those still being the only trips from Leslie's office since he got there. The whole place is a complete labyrinth to him – it would take hours to figure out how to get up there, even if they've already taken him there.

“Yeah, I know. Do you want someone jumping you if they found you alone?”

Ian looks up at the man, surprised. He's protecting him?

“Don't be so fucking shocked, man,” Andrew chuckles. “It took Leslie and Mickey long enough to convince the others to lay off. It would be kind of a shame if you got yourself killed after all the effort.”

“Leslie, she…” he begins, but Andrew interrupts him.

“She's something, huh? I've never met anyone like her. You're not the first person she's been nice to when she didn't have to.”

“She trusted me since the beginning. Even lied to the others, said that I was still unconscious,” he says, frowning. He still has no idea why she did it.

“That's Leslie for you. But she's not naïve or anything, you know? She doesn't let people use her and she definitely doesn't take anyone's shit.”

They walk the rest of the way in silence, and Ian is surprised to realize that Andrew must believe him, too. He'd always thought that he was a lots-of-muscles-but-no-brain kind of guy, and that he would kill him without batting an eye if someone asked him to.

When they get back to the office, Leslie isn't there, but there is a woman Ian doesn't remember seeing before. She's tall and skinny, but her hard features make her seem intimidating.

“Hey, Lana,” Andrew greets her with a small smile.

“Where is Leslie?” she asks, her thick accent telling Ian that she must be Russian. Not like it matters, anyway. For all they know, Russia is just as abstract of a term as color now. They have no information whatsoever about what's happening on the other continents. Maybe people live completely different lives there – maybe the attacks resulted in people uniting and living a dream – who knows?

“With Pete, I think. He can't walk since he fell the last time so she's going over there, now that she doesn't have to keep soldier-boy here from bleeding to death.”

Ian cringes at the nickname, but Lana laughs shortly, turning her eyes to him.

They are all too caught up to notice the woman walking inside until she speaks.

“I see that you're getting along nicely,” she says.

“Cat…” Andrew starts warningly, but she holds up her hands, snorting.

“I'm not here to cause problems.” That's when Ian remembers her – she was the one asking for his death.

Cat must notice the recognition in his eyes because she sighs loudly. “I just came to say hi. We haven't actually met before. If I'm supposed to trust you and live with you under one roof, I ain't doing that before talking to you, at least.”

He nods warily but decides not to reply with any of the snarky responses that are piling inside his head. Instead, he offers her a hand to shake. “My name's Ian.”

She doesn't accept the handshake, but she replies anyway. “Cat. How old are you?”

“Twenty-two,” he replies, confused.

“What are the names of your sister's kids?”

Ian blinks a few times and wills his voice not to shake when he says, “Amy and Luke. They're twins – it was their birthday two weeks before we got attacked – “ He cuts himself off, still confused about the questions. “Why are you asking me this?”

Cat shrugs, “Wanted to see if you were lying. I guess you're not.” For the first time, she genuinely looks like she believes him – feels sorry for him, even, but that disappears quickly and is replaced by what Ian could only describe as dangerous.

“But if it turns out that you're a traitor,” she says, taking a step closer, “You'll wish you could have died when you had the chance.”

“Fair enough,” he replies, hoping that the death threats would just stop already. It was hard enough to start wanting to live again as it is.

“Bye Lana, Andrew,” Cat says and disappears, not sparing him another glance.

Once they are alone again, Ian sits down onto the mattress he spent almost two weeks on, hissing when he stretches the stitches on his side. When he looks up, he sees that Andrew and Lana are both staring at the spot where the wound is. He's just about to ask when Andrew says, “Leslie told some people what happened, and word gets around quickly around here. Did you really do that to yourself?”

Ian is taken aback until he remembers his talk with Leslie – he totally forgot that he had told her about that.

“Um, yeah. Yeah, I did,” he says, remembering the fear, the constant feeling like they were being watched – the panic in which he realized that they could be tracked down and the sudden decision to –

“That's fucking brave, man. I mean… I dunno if I would have had the guts to do that.”

“Pussy,” Lana says then, “He was protecting family. That's more important than pain.” She flashes him a quick smile and ignores Andrew's muttering about how he's totally not a pussy. Ian finds the two amusing – the whole situation is weirdly domestic, and for the first time, he has a flicker of hope that maybe, one day, he'll be a part of their little group of survivors.

Later that day, when Leslie comes back, she also brings two men with her – Brian and Gareth, Ian finds out, who she explains are more or less the leaders of this place. Even though it's obvious that the men are related, their appearance is the only thing indicating so. Gareth barely says anything except for introducing himself and he keeps his face neutral, looking as if he's constantly about to scold someone. Brian, however, is gesturing wildly, speaking so fast that Ian has to concentrate really hard to understand him.

“Leslie mentioned earlier that you're getting better as far as health is concerned – is that right?” Brian asks.

“Yes. I believe that the infection is gone by now… It shouldn't take long until I'm completely healthy.”

“Great. Well, since you don't require medical attention anymore, I think it's safe to say that we need to find you a place to stay. You can't keep sleeping at her office. I still want someone with you at all times when you're moving around here, though. People would be calmer if they didn't think you're strolling around here on your own.”

“Yeah, I understand,” Ian says, knowing that just because he's earned the trust of some people, there are still those who are suspicious. Meeting Cat gave him an idea.

“Cool. I'll have someone find you a room and show you around – “

“I'll do it,” Andrew interrupts him and Brian nods, continuing, “Okay. Well, tomorrow, you need to start accommodating to our lifestyle. Joining us for meals, finding yourself something to do – there's plenty, trust me. You don't have to do anything too exerting until you've healed, of course, but it's important for you to try to blend in as soon as possible. My head is going to fucking explode and I just really want this situation to be over with,” he sighs, muttering something Ian can't understand.

“Thank you for letting me stay,” he says, Bran waving him off as soon as the words leave his mouth.

“Don't thank me yet. You'll soon find out that this life is no fairy tale.”

Ian was about to mention that he's been through hell and back, but he thought better of it. These people don't need any reason to think he's dismissing their suffering. God knows that he isn't – he just gets frustrated when people assume he's been living a dream up until now.

“I have a question,” Gareth joins in then. “It's been assumed, but I need you to confirm it. Are you on our side? By that I mean, are you willing to fight for us and for our freedom, if it comes to that? Are you willing to stand up to the Protectors if they were to discover us?”

Ian knows that this is what some of them are afraid of – that if it ever came to it, he'd turn his back on them and run back to the Protectors, betray them without even batting an eye. “I am,” he says. “If you accept me as one of you, I'll do anything in my power to help, or fight when it's necessary. The Protectors have taken everything from me, too, and nothing is going to change how I feel about them. I literally would have rather died than let them get to me after I had run away.”

“That's all I needed to know. Welcome home, Ian.” Gareth flashes him a quick smile and offers a hand for him to shake. He accepts it and then, without another word, the brothers turn their backs and leave the three of them alone again.

“I don't know if I imagined it,” Andrew says, grinning, “but I think that Gareth just smiled.”

Leslie snorts and shakes her head, trying to keep herself from laughing. “No, I don't think so. How wild would that be?”

“Um, Leslie?” Ian says, her eyes softening when she looks at him. “I wanted to thank you, properly. For trusting me since the beginning.”

She nods, smiling. “I trust the truth. No need to thank me. Now, I'm going to need you to come here for check-ups every day for at least another week. We might have fought off the infection, but you've just barely escaped death out there.”

“That's Leslie's way of saying that she'll miss you,” Andrew whispers theatrically, causing Ian to grin widely.

“Um, sure. I'll come.”

“Good,” she says, still glaring at Andrew. “See you around, then. I take it that you're coming to breakfast?”

“Seems like it,” he sighs, trying not to let it show how nervous it makes him.

“Don't worry about it. Our lives are pretty boring around here, and everything new passes once we have had time to get used to it. Soon, no one will look at you twice when you walk past them.”

After that, Ian lets Andrew lead the way through the complex of corridors and halls, taking turns in every direction until he's completely lost. They pass a few people who greet Andrew but ignore Ian – at least no one is threatening to kill him.

“I'll show you around later, but it's a lot to take in. I kept getting lost when I first came here, but you'll get a hang of it in no time.”

“If you say so,” Ian says doubtfully as they take another turn.

“This is where most of the bedrooms are – if you can call it that. There are a shit ton of rooms but they are all pretty much the same cold, metal-walled cubicles.” They are walking down the long hall – the longest one so far, and all the doors are on the right. There are dozens and dozens of them, some of them open and revealing people sitting around and chatting. No one pays them any attention, and suddenly they are nearly at the end of the hall. There are just a few doors left.

“This is me,” Andrew says, pointing at the huge double door. “The other four on the left are empty. You can pick either one. There are three other halls like this, but the only ones who sleep there are Gareth and Pete.”

Ian walks up to the first door on the left, not caring which of the rooms he ends up in. “This one's good,” he says, looking around. It's completely empty, but there is a light on the opposite wall. At least he doesn't have to get used to being in the dark all the time.

“How do you have power in here?” he asks, curious about all the lights down here.

“We found a generator,” Andrew says, shrugging. “Jackson and Iggy are tech freaks. Just don't ask them anything like this if you don't want them to talk about it for hours.”

“Noted,” he chuckles, hoping that he'd get to talk to the two. This place, however cold and unwelcoming, is completely fascinating to him so far.

“Come on, we'll get you some stuff. Bed, shelves, clothes, all that shit.” Andrew turns around and starts walking in the direction they came from, but he takes a sharp turn to the left – Ian doesn't even notice the narrow hall until Andrew disappears from his sight.

“We keep spare things in here – everything we managed to steal from the city. Just pick whatever you need or want, I'll help you carry it to your room. You can come here whenever, we have lots of things piling up here that no one will miss,” Andrew says as he opens the simple-looking door. The room it leads to can only be described as huge. There are whole piles of stuff in there – mattresses like the one he had at Leslie's, bed frames, desks, chairs, couches, cabinets, shelves, wardrobes… On the other side, there are bags full of brand-new clothes.

“How did you find all this?” he asks, still looking around in wonder.

“Dude, there are malls that were left untouched out there. Houses that people left in a hurry.”

“But… I thought everything was destroyed. How come you've never been spotted – carrying all this in here?”

“We have our ways,” Andrew says, frowning, and Ian realizes that it must sound suspicious.

“It's just fascinating, is all,” he says quickly, “I had no idea about what the life is like outside the borders. After I got away, it was just about survival. This… I didn't expect anything like this.”

“Yeah well,” Andrew shrugs, smiling again, “I guess it's pretty cool. Come on, grab a mattress and pick some clothes. You can come for the rest later.”

Ian doesn't pay much attention to the things he's picking. It's not like he cares what he wears, and he doesn't want to take too much of anything, even though Andrew said that no one wants this stuff. It feels like he's stealing from these people – as though he needs to give them another reason to hate him.

Once they put the things he picked inside his new room, Andrew shows him the shortest way to the bathroom. Apparently, there are two, one of them pretty close to the hall with the bedrooms. Ian makes sure to memorise the way there, not really eager on having to be walked like a dog on a leash whenever he needs to take a piss.

He decides to ask Andrew about the water later – how they have working showers is beyond his understanding – and instead, decides to get some rest.

“No one knows which room you're at so I doubt anyone will try to get to you. If so, I'm right next door. Just scream or whatever. Cat can be pretty intimidating,” Andrew says as he's walking out, probably only half joking.

“Yeah, thanks. See ya,” Ian replies, falling down onto the mattress as soon as the door closes behind him. His eyes flutter close and he sighs contently, noting that it's much more comfortable here than in the office where the smell of disinfectant never really wore off.

Seconds later, he's already asleep.

 

*

 

A loud, thumping sound is what he wakes up to in what barely feels like a few hours. He looks around frantically for a few seconds before he remembers where he is. Then, the sound is there again.

“What the fuck?” he mutters, trying to find its source in the dark.

“Rise and shine, sleeping beauty!” The voice is muffled and too quiet, as if it was coming from underwater – must be the metal door and all that.

Then, the door opens and he's momentarily blinded by the sudden light invading his room.

“Are you seriously still sleeping? Jesus. I ain't got the whole day, man. If you don't want to stay here, you've got about ten seconds before I'm out.” The voice, obviously, belongs to Andrew, but Ian almost doesn't recognize him at first. He's wearing a tank top and every inch of his skin from the collar down seems to be covered in tattoos. There are ornaments and words and flowers, skulls with roses in place of eyes and angel wings and…

“Staring, much?” Andrew asks, amused.

“Sorry,” he mutters, “I never noticed. They're beautiful.”

Andrew flashes him a grin but he raises his eyebrows impatiently when Ian still doesn't move.

“Oh,” he says and gets up quickly, grabbing a change of clothes from the pile he's brought in last night.

“Here,” Andrew hands him a paper bag and Ian opens it curiously, yelping in surprise when he realizes what it is.

“Oh my God,” he says, pulling out one of the items, “I never thought I'd be this excited to see a toothbrush.”

“Yeah, yeah, now come the fuck on.”

Ian follows Andrew out of the room and down the hall where several people are passing them. Some of them nod in his direction but don't acknowledge him otherwise. There is a long-ass queue in front of the bathroom, which is why Andrew leads him to the one further away, muttering something about not wanting to spend his whole youth there.

Things as simple as taking a shower using actual soap or brushing his teeth after so long feel like heaven. It's almost impossible to step out from under the shower head but after the third annoyed stream of swears from outside the bathroom – which Andrew had walked out of several minutes ago – he finally gets out and puts on the clean clothes.

“Fucking finally,” Andrew says and rolls his eyes. “I'm starving.”

The feeling of calmness is gone when Ian realizes that they are headed for breakfast, but he puts on his brave face and decides not to show how fucking nervous he is.  _It's just people_ , he reminds himself.  _They let you stay here._

The room that Andrew calls the main hall is huge and filled with light coming from what seems to be hundreds of little lights, all over the ceiling. There are tables and chairs of all sizes, and a sort-of kitchen on the right. People are sitting in small groups and Ian is kind of surprised that there aren't more of them. By the size of the place, he'd expect a few dozens, at least. So far, he counted eleven, Andrew included.

When they walk in, it's the same as in the halls – people greet Andrew and ignore him, though when they get to the table where Lana and a guy he hasn't seen before are seated, the two look at him as well.

“Morning, Andrew,” says Lana, “Ian. Not dead yet?”

Before he can reply, the other guy flashes him a grin and says, “Hey, I'm Jackson. Ian, right? I just wanted to ask, when you were still a member of the Monster Crew, did you like, have access to the tech rooms? Mainly I'm interested in the security system in the borders – like, how do they know the identity of the people passing through? I can't figure it out – how does the identification work? You see, I was doing some research, and – “

“Jackson, for the love of God,  _shut up_ ,” Andrew snarls dangerously, though Jackson just snorts, unfazed.

“Alright, grumpy. You're literally terrifying when you're hungry.”

“I'll be even more terrifying if you don't let me eat in peace,” he says, grabbing something from Jackson's plate just to piss him off, it seems.

“Yeah well, go take your own food, will you?”

Andrew mutters something and stands up, gesturing for Ian to follow him. Gareth is the one to hand them each a tray from behind the counter, the expression on his face the definition of utter dread and boredom.

When they get back, Lana and Jackson are arguing about something, but they stop when the two of them sit down. Ian feels like they stopped because of him, but he lets it be, too hungry to care about anything else really. The food is another surprising thing about the place – he'd expect the kind they used to have in prisons, but on his tray, there is a cup of tea, an apple, and a few slices of bread with single-serving packages of honey and jam. It tastes like heaven, but he'd say the same if they served him anything, really.

Sometime half-way through breakfast, they are joined by two other men – both of whom Ian recognises, this time. One of them is Mickey, one of the people whom he can apparently thank for his life, and the other one is Iggy – who went out of his way to bring his sister's body.

Ian swallows dryly, unsure whether he should say something.

“Hey, guys,” Iggy says as he sits down, his eyes widening slightly when they settle on Ian. “Oh. So you're officially with us now? Cool, man.”

“Um. Yeah,” he says, attempting at a smile.

Mickey doesn't say anything but Ian could feel his eyes on him when he eats. He doesn't know how to feel about Mickey at all – their interaction in Leslie's office was weird to say the least. Mickey seemed determined to get rid of him, yet he chose to believe Ian and stood up to the whole group after they got confronted by Cat. It feels like he's missing something, something that could explain why Mickey acts like this.

“Iggy, back me up, man,” Jackson says pleadingly, pulling Ian out of his trance. “This is a great opportunity! Ian could help us figure shit out, he  _must_  know things about the system that we don't… right?” he asks, aiming the last part at Ian.

“I… I'm not sure. I mean, I'll answer any questions you might have, but I doubt that I'll be very useful.”

He swallows dryly, hoping he won't have to lie to them. There is something that he doesn't trust them with just yet, something he'll hide for as long as he needs to.

“Good enough,” Iggy shrugs, continuing his conversation with Jackson, half of which is in terms Ian barely understands.

“Someone show you around yet?” Mickey asks Ian, glancing at Andrew when he doesn't reply right away. “He's mute now?”

Ian frowns and ignores the last comment, “Not really. Andrew said he can do it.”

“Nah, I'll do it. Wanted to talk to you anyway. You good to go now?” Mickey looks at him impatiently, already turning around and storming out before Ian has a chance to reply.

“Um. Yeah, sure,” he says, waving awkwardly as he follows Mickey out. This time, people are looking at him the whole time, his skin itching under the scrutiny – being ignored was definitely better.

Once they are out, Mickey slows down to walking pace, glancing sideways to make sure Ian is there. They walk in silence for a bit, but then Mickey starts talking, explaining the passageways and how to best memorise the way to this place or that. He shows Ian the way from the main hall to Leslie's office so that he can go for his check-ups, then the storage rooms and a rec room with an actual billiard table – he doesn't even ask anymore. They slowly make their way through the majority of the part of the complex that's occupied – Mickey explains that it's way too big for them and some parts of it haven't even been fully explored yet.

Overall, Ian finds himself relaxing in the other man's presence, finding it almost easy to talk to him about the place. Mickey has his own way of explaining stuff which Ian finds pretty fascinating – during the tour he got to understand the system and the dynamic of the group he's supposed to be a part of.

After what seems to have been a few hours, Ian is pretty exhausted and is grateful when Mickey suggests that they take a break. Mickey leads him to the one room with a natural source of light – it's a small, narrow place with a wooden ceiling, half of which is made of metal bars. Mickey tells him that it's impossible to spot from the outside and that whenever someone needs a bit of natural sunlight without having to go out, they can hide up here.

“It's beautiful,” Ian says, looking up at the sky, “I almost forgot what the sky looks like.”

“Nothing special about it,” Mickey mutters, looking up as well.

Ian shrugs, leaning against the narrow surface of the wall so that he's half-sitting, half-lying. “What about at night? Before, I mean. When the stars were still up.”

Mickey turns around sharply, narrowing his eyes into slits. “Don't fucking talk about stars to me. I mean it.”

“Okay,” Ian says, confused. “I won't. Sorry.”

The silence that follows isn't as uncomfortable as Ian would expect. They just sit there, enjoying the sun and listening to the distant sounds of the people below them.

“Why did you want to find us?” Mickey asks then. “Why not leave the place altogether? You could have flown to Europe or whatever. Maybe you'd have found… I dunno. Something better than this.”

Ian didn't expect that question, though it shouldn't have surprised him. Everyone would leave if they had the option – which he did, of course. Stealing a plane wouldn't be half as hard as crossing the borders was.

“Well, one of the reasons was that no one knows for sure what's out there. I couldn't take such a risk, not when I was supposed to take care of my sister and her kids,” he says, the guilt hitting him again as he continues, “maybe I should have. Maybe they'd still be alive.”

“You don't know that. And besides, the kids aren't dead. We haven't found the bodies.”

“They have just turned six. They couldn't have survived on their own. I took them and promised to protect them, and I failed. I could have just as well pulled the trigger myself.” Ian sits up, cursing himself for talking about it again. He's been trying to avoid the thoughts, knowing that the guilt could destroy him.

“At least you did something,” Mickey says, his voice less rough than usual, “You wanted them to have a better life, right? It's not your fault.”

Ian decides not to reply this time, knowing he'd only end up hating himself even more than he already does, and then Mickey would probably end up agreeing with him, sick of his whining and the self-loathing bullshit.

“What's the other reason?” Mickey asks and it takes Ian a moment to remember what they were talking about.

“If I had left, it would be giving up,” he says quietly. “I couldn't do that. Staying means that I'm still fighting. It means there is a chance that I can… do something, change something.”

“You've come to the right place, then,” Mickey grins widely, “we sure as hell ain't giving up. We either win or we die fighting.”

“Amen to that,” Ian laughs, happy to change the subject. “And thanks, by the way. For sticking up for me. I didn't expect you to do that after I basically yelled at you.”

Mickey shrugs half-heartedly, “I didn't think you were lying. It just didn't make sense.”

Then, he asks a question that's been nagging at him for some time – ever since that time in the main hall when he thought he was surely gonna die. Up until Mickey and Leslie and Iggy stood up for him. “After we buried my sister,” he starts and Mickey frowns, a flicker of compassion flashing across his face, “the guy – Brian? He said that he gave you the right to decide what to do with me, but that you refused. I just… Why? Why didn't you just kill me, even before you met me? Why not make the decision?”

“I wanted to, at first,” Mickey says, thinking his words through. “When Brian told me they've captured a soldier, my first instinct was to run up there and kill. I was about to do that, but then Brian said it's up to me – and I remembered the reason he did that. I didn't want any more blood on my hands than necessary – I at least wanted to hear you out. Then, I changed my mind again, but when Leslie came to tell me you were awake and convinced me to go to Iggy before coming to you… And then, when I met you, it just… Suddenly, you weren't just this nameless, faceless figure, you weren't just a soldier – you became a person. Someone who's been through shit, and how does it make you any different than the rest of us? Who knows what we would have done if we were in your position?” Mickey shrugs and fidgets with the hem of his shirt, looking straight ahead.

“Thank you,” he says but Mickey glares at him, shutting him up.

“You need to stop saying that, honestly,” Mickey grins which seems to break the tension after all the reasons-why-I-didn't-kill-you talk.

They stay in there for a couple of hours, neither too eager to leave the sun behind just yet. As Mickey is telling him about how he definitely shouldn't let Jackson and Iggy start asking him questions and warning him that they'd never stop, he leans back and closes his eyes, the sun making his pale skin look like it's glowing. Ian has been trying to ignore such thoughts, knowing it was neither the place nor the time to get a fucking crush, but here, in the room that feels like it's the end of the world, with Mickey sprawled out and laughing and bathing in sunshine, he memorises every detail, creating a memory he could go back to if things ever went to shit. He feels happy, sort of – after so, so long, he actually does.

“We should head back, or they'll think I only lured you away to kill you,” Mickey chuckles dryly and stands up, cracking his knuckles. Ian follows his example and lets him lead the way down, proud of himself for recognises some of the passageways they take to get to the main hall.

It's almost empty this time, the only person they catch there is Brian who immediately sends Mickey to go check on “the babies” – again, Ian decides not to ask. With Mickey leaving and Andrew being nowhere to be found, Ian has no idea what to do or where to go. Brian only acknowledges him after a few minutes of him standing there awkwardly, willing himself to either talk or leave.

Brian finally looks up at him, putting off the reading glasses he had on while furiously making some sort of calculations, probably also thinking about where to send him. “Uh, how good are you with numbers?”

“Pretty good, I guess?” he says, voicing it as a question. He's not a math genius, exactly, but if the man wants him to do that, he will sure as hell try.

“Excellent,” Brian says, gesturing for Ian to take a seat next to him.

It takes Brian maybe ten minutes to explain what he wants Ian to do – go through the items on the list, check if the number agrees with the one on the other list, if it does, check it off, if it does not, find the corresponding file and put it aside. Then, calculate the losses and the missing supplies. Easy enough, Ian thinks, and he suspects that Brian only has him do it because it's so incredibly boring and tiring.

“Is it alright if I leave you to it now? I've kind of got this other thing…”

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Ian replies, smiling politely. Internally, he's already imagining the hours and hours he'll have to spend by that very table, but who is he to complain? They could have had him cleaning the toilets with his own toothbrush like in the old movies if they wanted, and he'd probably still agree.

At first, he really sets his mind to it, going through item after item as carefully as possible, but after a few hours – he's not sure how many have passed – he starts to get incredibly bored.

Up to the point that he decides to take a little break and explore – he is allowed a break, right? It's not like he hasn't spent hours in there already.

Without giving it much thought, Ian stands up and leaves the main hall, unsure of where to go next. The tour Mickey had given him wasn't enough to make him memorise the place, but he does have an idea how to get to Leslie's office – he's supposed to go on check-ups, anyway, and so he takes what he supposes is the right way there.

After only ten minutes of walking, Ian realizes that he must have made a mistake. Leslie's office and the halls surrounding it were filled with light, but the further he goes, the darker it gets. He has half a mind to turn around and go back, but he isn't exactly sure which turns he has taken, and so the only remaining option is to go forward.

Luckily, after a few more minutes he starts hearing voices. He's even more relieved when he recognises them as Iggy and Jackson. Another turn to the left, and he finds himself in a dimly lit room filled with what he'd call rubbish – parts of long-out-of-use machines, cables, definitely not working computers – you name it, it's there.

“Hey,” he says, announcing his presence so that they don't think he's spying on them.

“Ian! Hey, man! What are you doing here?” Iggy asks, putting down the files he was studying.

“Hey there,” Jackson greets him as well, waving him from behind a huge-ass pile of old, rusty car parts.

“Um, I got a bit lost and I heard you guys,” he shrugs, both Iggy and Jackson falling into a fit of laughter.

“I was betting you'd get lost on your first way to the bedroom. I underestimated you!”

“Yeah, well,” Ian laughs, looking around the room. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

“Anything to pass the time, really. Mostly we try to figure out ways to make living in this dump more comfortable. It took us ages to get electricity working down here, water was an even bigger struggle… But since then, we just kinda mess around with shit we find on hunts,” Iggy explains, looking around the room proudly as if he's showing Ian his life work.

“It's pretty impressive. You two did all that?”

“Yeah, Brian basically said that if I wanted to stay, I had to fix the water pipes. No pressure or anything,” Jackson laughs again, walking out from behind the pile. “Anyway, now that you're here, can we talk about what I asked you before Andrew so rudely interrupted me?”

Ian, remembering everyone's warning, must look a bit hesitant because Jackson rolls his eyes, sighing. “I bet they told you to run for the hills if I say those words. Bunch of pricks, all of them.”

“They did say something similar. But I'm okay with some questions. Would you mind showing me the way to Leslie's after that? I was on my way there before, actually.”

“Yeah, man. Of course.” Jackson looks at Iggy again, the two of them wearing identical stone-faced looks as they turn to him. Ian frowns, confused, “What is it?”

It's Iggy who speaks this time, “So, are you and Leslie…? I mean, with her being so protective and all that…”

Again, it takes Ian a moment to get what Iggy's hinting at, and another one to actually react. “What?” he blurts out, “No, no, absolutely not. Really. That's like, impossible. I mean she's nice, it's not that… Fuck. Just, no.” He feels his face getting hotter but then the two laugh again, unfazed by his awkwardness.

“That's fine, just wanted to know. Iggy here has been pining over her for years.”

“Has not!” Iggy says angrily. “I just think she's pretty awesome. Doesn't mean I'd freak out if you two were a thing or anything. Just making sure.”

“Yeah, I get it. We're totally not, though.”

Now that Leslie became a topic of conversation, Iggy can't seem to talk about anything else. After fifteen minutes of listening to how extremely cute he finds it that she folds her shoe laces when she doesn't use them, Ian has really had enough.

“Uh, look guys, we can totally talk about what I know later, but I should probably go to Leslie now. She needs to do a check-up and all that.”

“Fuck, yeah, sorry. I'll show you the way,” Iggy offers with a dreamy expression, probably still thinking about Leslie's shoe laces.

Iggy rambles the whole way to her office, Ian just now realizing that he's much more eager to get to see Leslie than to show him how to get there. About half-way there, Ian starts recognizing the way, knowing exactly where he took the wrong turn. Now, he knows how to get to Leslie and Iggy and Jackson both.

They stop right in front of Leslie's office when they hear the sobs.

Iggy is in there before Ian can react, and once he follows him inside, he sees him crouching in front of Leslie who's crying her eyes out on the cold, metal floor. Ian feels his own heart sink, afraid of what caused Leslie to be so upset.

“What is it? Are you hurt?” Iggy keeps asking, his voice higher than usual.

“N-no,” she chokes out, gritting her teeth to stop the sobs. “It's Pete. He d-died. I c-couldn't save him. I couldn't!” she cries out and falls into another fit of sobs, clinging onto Iggy's upper arm. He caresses her hand gently, muttering that it's not her fault – that she couldn't have saved him, that he was dying.

Ian feels like he's invading on the grief. He never even met this Pete, but everyone else is grieving his death. He's an unwanted invader, a stranger who gets to live while the person they all knew and loved had to die.

He hates to see Leslie like that, hates the sight of her breaking apart in front of him, knowing that he can't do anything to help her – that he can't comfort her in any way, like these people – her friends, can.

“I failed. It was my job to s-save him. I should have been there more,” she sobs and Ian feels his heart swell at the words _. I should have been there more…_

_With Pete, I think. He can't walk since he fell the last time so she's going over there, now that she doesn't have to keep soldier-boy here from bleeding to death…_

It's his fault. Leslie spent her time with him when she should have been taking care of Pete.

Quietly, so that they don't notice him, he backs out of the room and half-runs down the corridor leading to the main hall, only knowing how to get to his room from there. He passes a few people but they ignore him, and even if they don't, he doesn't stop for them to talk to him.

When he gets to his door, he hesitates before opening it. If anyone comes looking for him, it would be the obvious place to hide. Instead, he picks one of the remaining, empty rooms on the left.

The one he ends up in is smaller than his, and completely empty, with the same light he's got in his own room. He doesn't switch it on though, just finds a corner where he sits down, willing his breathing to slow down.

It crashes him like a wave – all the emotions he hasn't allowed himself to feel. The guilt over getting his sister and probably her kids, too, killed. The aftermath of having been so close to death and welcoming it like a salvation, the decision not to fight anymore – and the fact that he managed to put himself together and go on. The panic that's been hovering in his chest ever since he crossed the borders, the fear that they'd find him and force him to come back.

And the guilt again – always the guilt. This time, it's Leslie and Pete, and all these people who have suffered so much because of the people he once considered family.

The panic attack catches him off guard, causing all the air in his lungs to seemingly disappear, choking and suffocating him until he's gasping for breath. Suddenly the room feels too dark and too small, and he needs to go up, onto the ground, right  _now_  – but he can't, he's buried in here, in this big metal box with no sunlight.

But then, his mind supplies the image of the room Mickey had shown him – the room bathed in sunlight, the careless laughter, the happiness.

The memory feels too far away, too distant to get a hold of, but he doesn't let it go. Even as it is fading, he tries to get his body to calm down, tries to will the invasive thoughts away.  _You're safe. You're okay._

_But they aren't. Because of you._

“NO!” he shouts, wanting the thoughts, the guilt, all of it – to just go away. Wanting it all to just stop.

_I want it to be over_ , he thinks.  _I want this hell of a life to be done with._

_We're sure as hell not giving up. We fight or we die trying._

The thought is not his own, nor is the voice that says it in his memory, but it's enough to cause him to open his eyes, the only difference being that there's a faint glow of light coming from under the door.

Ian spends the next few hours in a haze – falling in and out of the depths of his mind, trying to hold onto the tiny flickers of hope, the memories he promised himself to get back to when things went bad again. It's not until he almost falls asleep there that he decides to get the hell out of there and face the life he can't keep running away from.

It takes a huge effort to stand up, but once he's done it, it feels like getting splashed with cold water.

He rushes to the door, ignoring the protest of his muscles, reaches out for the handle and pushes it open, closing his eyes when they're met with the sudden light. He's alone in the corridor, there are no voices or people strolling through – no people chatting in the rooms either.

For the first time since he got here, the whole place is completely quiet. There is no one in the main hall, nor in the corridors. Iggy and Jackson aren't in their playroom – he even checks Leslie's office but finds it empty.

For a long, horrifying moment it feels like they've all left. Or like they've never been there in the first place. Like maybe he's just imagined them after getting infected, or maybe this is hell and he's destined to walk around completely alone, alone with his guilt and the things he's done.

“Ian? Ian!”

He turns towards the direction of the voice, startled to find himself down on his knees. He looks up again and sees a figure running towards him, hears a voice calling his name.

“Ian! Ian, are you okay?”

He blinks through the haze and tries to focus, to let his brain connect the person kneeling beside him to a name.

“What…” he starts but can't find the strength to continue.

“You're shaking. What are you doing here? What happened?”

Mickey. It's Mickey whose voice he's heard, it's Mickey who's in front of him, the look of concern written across his face. As soon as Mickey says it, he feels cold, so cold.

“I'm fine,” he grits through his teeth when he remembers, shame washing over him. Mickey shouldn't be here, with him – he should be with the others, grieving the death of a man Ian had helped to cause.

“Like hell you are,” Mickey mutters angrily, grabbing his wrist, but Ian pulls away as though if he got burned.

“Don't,” he says. “Just…”

“Okay. Okay, I won't touch you, I promise. Now get up so that we can get you to lie down, okay?” 

Ian wants to protest – wants to tell Mickey to leave him there, but a small part of him is yelling at him for acting like this, for giving into those thoughts, for letting them consume him.

Mickey waits there patiently, and just like before when he was trying to muster the strength to get up in the dark room, he manages to stand up. From there, his mind simply shuts off, his legs working by muscle memory until Mickey is stopping in front of his room, opening the door and shutting it close after switching the lights on.

Ian stands there for a while, unable to talk because his mouth feels like he's just eaten a fistful of sand. Eventually, he sits down onto his bed, leaning his back against the wall. Mickey drags a chair from across the room and sits down, leaving a few feet of space between them. He doesn't say anything and Ian is glad, knowing he wouldn't be able to answer.

They sit there for a long time and Ian feels himself getting calmer, his mind getting clearer. He lets out an involuntary hiss when another wave of guilt from keeping Mickey there washes over him – he probably feels sorry for him and wishes he could leave but is too nice to say so.

“I'm sorry,” he rasps, his voice hoarse and too quiet after all that time.

“Wanna tell me what happened?” Mickey asks.

“No. Where is… where is everyone?”

“We were outside, burying Pete,” he replies and Ian flinches visibly.

“Is this about him? Pete dying?”

Ian doesn't reply which is as good of a reply as any.

“You didn't even know him,” Mickey says, confused.

“It's my fault.” The words spill out against his will, the weight of the statement still holding him down.

“How can it… Pete was _sick_. He had a terminal disease, this was a long time coming. It's not your fault, Ian.”

“Leslie. I found her crying. She said she should have been taking care of Pete. She should have been with him but instead, she was with me. It's my fault.”

Mickey opens his mouth to speak but no sound comes out.  _He's blaming you, too. You were right. You're a monster._

“You really should have killed me when you had the chance,” he blurts out and stands up suddenly, his head spinning from the sudden movement.

It's Mickey's firm grip on his wrist again that stops him mid-way, causing him to turn around. The panic is bubbling underneath the surface, seconds from taking over again.

“Ian,” he says slowly, not letting go even when Ian tries to pull away. “Whatever you're thinking, Pete's death was not your fault. It wasn't Leslie's either. It just happened, just like bad things always happen. Do you blame Leslie, too? She couldn't have helped him, he was  _dying_.”

“Let me go,” he says, looking down at Mickey's hand still gripping his.

“Wait, I'll go,” Mickey lets go and takes a step towards the door. “Just, please, don't do this to yourself. I'll leave you alone if that's what you want, and I'll let the others know you're here. Leslie was scared shitless, you know? No one could find you anywhere. Go and see her later, okay?”

Ian doesn't reply but he does nod lightly. Mickey leaves then, just like he promised.

His words do make sense – so maybe it's not his fault that Pete had died. Doesn't change the fact that everything else  _is_.

It's the worst sleep he's had since he got here – including the nights spent with feverish nightmares and twisted memories. It's worse because the nightmares don't stop when he wakes up – it's all still there, still real.

The shouted thoughts inside his head such as  _the world would be better off without_ _you_ keep getting interrupted by whispered  _you promised to fight. you promised to make a change._

Ian doubts he could ever do something to stop this. He doubts any of them can.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title - the 1975 song "Is there somebody who can watch you"  
> the quote in the beginning is a line from Neil Hilborn's poem "this is not the end of the world"


	4. I don't care if it hurts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so the words he says come out in a bliss, in a single exhale, a quiet whisper that could just as well have been a shout from the rooftops.
> 
> “I want you to kiss me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> edited by mikhailosbitch, thank you!!

 

_“Not letting the world destroy you. That’s a daily battle.”_

 

**_*_ **

 

“Mickey!”

He looks up from the sorry excuse for a coffee he's been enjoying in silence up until now, trying not to seem too tormented when he spots Gareth calling for him from the other side of the rec room. It's a mystery to Mickey why the man never even sets a foot inside – is it because people go there to have fun? Would that offend his cranky, grumpy self?

“What's up?” he asks, a small sigh escaping his lips as he stands up from the armchair and walks up to Gareth. He notices that Gareth looks about ten years older than usual, his wrinkles visibly deeper, his skin glistening with a sheen layer of sweat. Even his clothes look like he's been wearing them for days. Mickey tries to offer him what he hopes is a friendly smile when he realizes that Gareth's state must have a lot to do with Pete – and Ruby, for that matter.

“I've got a job for you,” Gareth sighs and rubs his nose, leaning against the doorframe. “I need you and Gina to go to the city. Take Cat, too, if you two can get over that petty fight.”

“Cat and I are cool,” he says with a bit more bite than he intended. “What are we going there for?”

“Rob. He sent a message earlier this week but I totally forgot about it until today. He's got some news for us but he and Vladimir aren't on the best of terms, so he's in the city which makes it easier for us. I'm not very comfortable with that but as far as he knows, we are located far more south than this. Just keep quiet about it as always and it should be alright.”

“What the fuck?” Mickey blurts out in disbelief, “Who the hell does he think he is? The city is risky, we don't know whether it's being supervised or not. It could be a trap, too – what if he's switched sides?”

“It's always been risky with Rob,” Gareth admits, “but you know that we need him. He's the only guy we've got out there.”

“What if he follows us here or something? Have you thought about it?”

“Mickey, though it might surprise you,  _yes_ , I have actually thought this through before coming to you. I wouldn't send you there if I thought there were other options.” Gareth seems to be far more on edge than what Mickey's used to and he feels a flash of guilt over taking his frustration out on Gareth. Rob has always been inconsistent, it shouldn't have surprised him that he'd changed the terms again.

“Okay then. Have you told Gina and Cat yet?”

If Gareth is surprised by the sudden change and lack of resistance, he doesn't mention it, just looks at Mickey with the same, tired expression and shakes his head. “Nah, I don't know where they are and I only knew you were here because I stumbled upon Iggy. Just… find them and get ready to go as soon as possible. I don't want you out there after dark.”

“I'll go find them,” Mickey says and heads out, leaving Gareth behind. He makes a mental note to stop by Leslie's later and ask her to check on him. Gareth might not be the nicest person but someone  _should_  be worrying about him, too.

Mickey finds the girls in the main hall – preparing some kind of food it seems – which makes him wonder whether Gareth just avoided asking them altogether.

“You missed breakfast,” Gina frowns and smacks his hand away from a pile of still-hot cookies – they have enough pre-made cookie dough to last them a few centuries, it seems. “No hand-outs. Wait up till lunch.”

“It's cookies,” he shrugs and grabs a few when she's not looking, ignoring the glare she sends his way. “Besides, I need you two to come with me. Gareth came by, he's sending us to the city. You too, Cat.”

“The city?” Cat asks, kicking the oven shut, “What for?”

“Rob. He wants to meet up there because of some shit between him and Vladimir. I don't like it any more than you do,” he adds when Cat's face turns into an angry mask, “but we can't afford to lose Rob.”

“And Gareth's okay with this?” Gina asks disbelievingly.

“He knows it's the only way.”

“Well, I trust him,” she shrugs, glancing at Cat who doesn't seem too pleased but nods anyway. “Yeah, me too,” she says. “Let's grab some stuff and go then. I don't want to have to spend the night there.”

They go to the storage room and fill a few backpacks in case they get into trouble – blankets, flashlights, snacks, weapons. Anything they might need.

As they are making their way up, they walk by the bedroom hall and Mickey frowns deeply, remembering last night and the way Ian had acted. The whole interaction kept him up all night. He didn't get it at first, why would Ian be so upset over Pete's death? Mickey knew the guy and sure, he was sad to see him go, but it was a long time coming. Ian hadn't even met him.

But then he realized that this is something else – that Ian was in a really bad place last night and it had little to do with Pete and much more with everything he's been through up to this point. Leaving him alone makes his skin itch but he can relate to the need to deal with this stuff alone. Needless to say, he made sure to ask Andrew to check up on Ian every now and then. They are a family down here and despite the conditions Ian has joined them under, he is a part of it now, too. Even if family asks you to leave them alone, you don't leave them  _behind_.

The feeling of sun on his skin is as mesmerizing as always, no matter how many times he comes up here. It feels like ages since he's been up on the roof with Gina and like centuries since he's not lived underground.

“Did Gareth say where we are meeting him?” Cat asks once they have checked the guns and prepared for the walk to the city.

“No. You know how Rob is. We can just hope to find him before someone else finds us.”

It takes them almost two hours to get to the city on foot, mostly because they try not to take a straight path in case someone is watching them. The land out here is vast and it doesn't provide many places to hide, but they have done this a few times before – the most important thing is to always have a backup plan or a place to run to in case something happens and to never,  _ever_  lead the enemies to the shelter.

“It's always so depressing to see,” Gina says sadly when they pass the ruins of an abandoned building, one that has been bombed during the rebellions, back when the world was going crazy and the military was only about to take over.

They pass block after block, slowly moving from the poor areas to the once-fancier looking parts of the city. It's not for another half an hour that they notice a car parked in front of a small, hidden apartment building, the silhouette of a person sitting by the wheel giving it away.

“I guess we found him,” says Mickey as he points to the car from the corner of the building where they are hiding.

“Are you sure it's him?” Gina asks, aiming the question at Cat who, after a moment, confirms it. “Yup, definitely. I've never seen anyone else with such a dumb-looking moustache. Let's go.”

As soon as they step out of their hiding spot, the man gets out of the car and leans against it, arms crossed over his chest as he watches them get closer.

“Took you long enough,” he says as a way of greeting, his small rat-like eyes glaring daggers at them once they stop a few feet before him.

“Rob. We didn't know where to find you.”

“Whatever. Get in the car,” he says and sits back behind the wheel, waiting for the three to follow him inside. Once they are all seated, he starts the engine and drives behind the apartment building, taking a sharp turn to the right and then down into what seems to have once been an underground garage. He stops the car and gets out, then closes the garage door shut before turning on the small light in the center of the ceiling.

“How do you know about this place?” says Mickey at the same time as Cat ironically mutters “Cosy.”

“Why do you care?” Rob snarls, “And keep your voice down.” He looks around sheepishly before settling back on Mickey.

“Yeah, okay.” It's obvious that the man is nervous, but really? As if the car wasn't loud enough to draw attention. “Gareth said you've got some news for us.”

“Yeah, well. I'd prefer talking to him personally, but I guess that's not an option. Why would he risk his own neck if he could just send you, huh? Fucking coward.”

“Watch your mouth,” Cat hisses before either of them can stop her.

“Easy,” Rob blurts out, his lips curling into a snarl. “I'm doing you a huge favour here. If I were you, I'd be nice.” Then, he turns to Mickey. “Tell Gareth to put a leash on this one.”

“We're not here to talk about Gareth, Rob,” Mickey says with fake calmness to his voice. “What is it that you've got for us?”

Rob snorts but doesn't try to change the topic again, but it still takes him a while to reply. Mickey has a feeling that he'd rather send them to hell, the only reason not to being his fear of Gareth.

“There have been some changes going on,” he says at last. “The security is getting crazier than ever. People are starting to ask questions but those who do either disappear or are shut down in… _other_ ways. It's like when the rebellions started in the west, only quieter. Me coming here was a pain in the ass, let me tell you,” he snorts out and glares at them hatefully.

“What did you mean, get shut down? Are they openly killing people now?” Gina asks, worry written all across her face. Mickey can almost hear the thoughts that must be screaming inside her head – thoughts about the family she's left behind.

“I don't know what they're doing with them,” Rob shrugs as if it's just a pointless detail. “All I know is that it's taboo to talk about. The families barely mention the members who are taken, or they make up some bullshit excuses when people ask about them. The weird thing is that many people disappear for no apparent reason. There is no pattern to it.”

“Fuck,” Mickey mutters, glancing at Gina and Cat who are both equally terrified. “This is bad. Protectors have always made sure to keep up their appearances. Why the fuck would they take such risks?”

“That's not all of it,” Rob says with a weird glint in his eye. Mickey's suspecting that he actually enjoys the terror in their faces. “The Central has been giving out new orders. New vaccinations, mandatory training, genetic tests. It's like they're gathering information.”

“But for what?!”

“No one knows.”

“This is so fucked up,” he says as he paces around the room, the anger mixing with fear when he thinks about all those people. “And what's the cover-up?”

“Security, as always,” says Rob. “The propaganda says that it's all in the spirit of protection in case another attack comes. They are making it sound like they're sure it's coming, but it's obviously bullshit. They are clueless about such things, just like we all are, and they're using it as a perfect camouflage for god knows what it is that they're doing with all those people.”

“People need to know. We have to do something!” The look in Gina's eyes is borderline hysterical, and Mickey himself is not too far from that state.

“We can't,” Cat whispers, “there's nothing we can do.”

“But…”

“Gina,” she sighs “it's impossible. There's thirteen of us and there are hundreds of them, if not thousands. The people trust them – those who don't are either too afraid or dead already. It's a lost cause.”

“Not to intrude on your emotional outbreak,” Rob mutters in a tone that indicates he enjoys this situation way too much for Mickey's liking, “but I've done my duty. You need to get out of here, I can't risk being near you any longer.”

“Let's go, before I send his teeth flying out of his disgusting mouth,” Cat growls as she grabs Gina's wrist and storms out, Mickey following right behind her. Rob's voice dies out as soon as they shut the door behind him, which is when Gina's shock turns into anger.

“I'm not letting them kill my family, Cat! We  _have_  to do something to stop them.”

“Your family  _chose_ to stay, Gina. They abandoned you and then betrayed you when the Protectors came asking about you. Or did you forget that part?!”

“Fuck you,” she spits out, pushing Cat away. “That doesn't mean they deserve to die. None of those people do.”

“Look,” Mickey steps in, looking around sheepishly, “I'm just as worked up as you are, but we need to get going. We've been here for far too long and arguing won't get us anywhere. We'll discuss it with the rest when we get back.”

Gina doesn't press the matter any further, but it's obvious that she's still burning with rage. It makes it that much harder to be careful when all of them are in so much shock.

The city makes Mickey feel the opposite of claustrophobic, as if the world is big enough to swallow him whole. He's itching to get back to the shelter and surround himself with walls, an illusion of safety, and at the same time, he wishes to be able to walk around freely, to not have to keep looking over his shoulder wherever he goes.

“Guys,” Cat whispers and stops abruptly. Mickey's heart starts beating faster when he hears the reason she's done so.

Wordlessly, he motions to the half-opened door of a grocery shop on their right. They get inside as quietly and quickly as possible, just in time for the group of Protectors to appear behind the corner. Mickey doesn't dare to look out to see if the coast is clear, but once they can't hear the footsteps, they breathe out in relief.

They wait in silence for another few minutes before daring to speak.

“Why were they here?” Gina whispers, her voice trembling at the close call.

“No idea. Let's get the fuck out of here.”

Bracing himself, Mickey opens the door and peeps out, relieved when the street is as quiet as if nothing happened. They get out in a hurry, crossing the street and looking around every few seconds, suddenly feeling exposed, watched.

It feels like forever until they get to the river, but the sight in front of them once they do is a nightmare coming true.

“What the fuck?!” he blurts out, glancing at the girls in disbelief, both of them staring straight ahead in shock.

There are at least a dozen Protectors by the river, more of them jumping out of the helicopter that just landed. They are fully armed and the longer they look, the more of them are getting out of the cars all around. The three of them are hidden from their sight but it still feels like they could be discovered any second. Mickey feels the fear settling in his stomach, the terror of the realization that they must have found out about the shelter.

“What are we going to do? We can't go back, we'd lead them right to the others,” he says, hoping to find a way out of this mess.

“Wait,” Cat says, her eyes narrowing as she studies the scene. “Look.”

Mickey follows her line of sight and settles on a small group of soldiers that is the closest to the river. They've brought dogs which are now snuffing around the bushes and barking loudly. He doesn't know what it is that he's supposed to see – until he spots one of the soldiers who's carrying a – “

“Is that a kid?” he asks, confused.

“Mickey,” Cat's looking at him with wide eyes, “they're by the river. That's where they found Ian. And the kid…”

“Fuck,” he curses as the realization hits him. “They're looking for him.” He looks back at the soldiers, not being able to see their faces from afar. The kid – a boy – can't be older than five, maybe six.

“What are they doing?!” Gina growls when she sees the soldier dropping the boy onto the ground roughly, gesturing wildly. It doesn't take long before the boy stands up and walks up to the dogs and points at a spot on the ground.

“Do you think they can track him to the warehouse?”

“It's been too long,” he says, though the uncertainty in his voice gives him away. He has no idea how long does it take for dogs to lose track of someone's scent.

Gina wordlessly reaches for his hand, giving it a light squeeze. It's hard to focus on anything when his mind is racing a thousand miles per hour, but he tries to take the reassurance, to clear his mind enough to come up with some kind of a plan.

“I think they're leaving…?” Cat mutters in disbelief. “Do you think they're headed to the shelter?”

“I sure as hell hope they're not,” he grits out, suddenly angry. Who gave them the right?!

It takes the soldiers barely a few minutes to pack up and get into their cars, leaving only the helicopter and the group they've been watching the whole time. They tag along for another few minutes but eventually, the helicopter takes off as well, the sound of its engine getting more distant with each passing second. With cars, they have no way to tell where they were going, but the helicopter flies right over their heads and above the city, causing all of them to breathe out in relief.

Even though the immediate danger is gone, Mickey can't bring himself to calm down until he sees that his friends are safe. They contemplate not coming back for a while, afraid of being followed, but eventually, when no Protectors reappear, they decide to head home. All of them are feeling equally worried, the uncertainty eating away at their insides.

As they are finally walking into the warehouse, Mickey has to remind himself that it's  _supposed_  to look abandoned and empty. That the crushing silence as they are making their way down is a good sign.

Only after they almost crash into Brian as they are running down the hall does he allow himself to relax, taking the confusion in the man's eyes as a reassurance that nothing bad has gone down in there.

“Whoa, what's going on?” he asks, worry settling in his eyes as he takes in the state of them.

“We… we thought…” Gina says while gasping for breath, her eyes barely holding her from the exhaustion. Cat supports her and holds her close, their fight hopefully long forgotten.

“Protectors,” Mickey spits out when Brian looks even more confused. “We met a group in the city and then later by the river. We were worried they were headed here.”

“What?!” Brian gasps, stepping closer to Mickey. “What do you mean? What were they  _doing_ here? No one is supposed to know… Did Rob betray us?!”

Honestly, it hadn't even crossed Mickey's mind. “I doubt it,” he says at last, “but it's possible.”

“They were looking for Ian,” Cat interferes, “they had the boy – his sister's kid. And they were by the river – must have been the spot where he was found.”

“Oh god…” Brian sighs out, rubbing circles into his temples, “This is honestly the worst fucking timing. Are you sure you weren't followed?”

“We're sure,” Mickey says, “I don't think they know about us – or at least where we are. They were too close but haven't come in here, just left the place not long after we got there.”

“We can only hope that's true. Fuck… Are you guys okay?”

“Yeah,” Gina sighs, “just tired. But… we've got some news. From Rob.”

“Oh crap, give me a break!” Brian yells, his anger not aimed at anyone in particular, yet Gina flinches away from him. “Let's move into my office, yeah? I didn't mean to – “

“It's alright,” she says and the four of them make their way to the part of the complex just behind the hospital wing where Brian and Gareth share “the office” – which is just another room filled with files about Protectors and whatever information they managed to gather.

“Sit,” he motions at the chairs lying around before he reaches down for some bottles and gives them one each.

“So what did Rob tell you?”

“Things are getting bad, Brian.” Gina looks at both Mickey and Cat, wordlessly asking them whether they want to be the ones to break the news to Brian, but when they shake their heads, she continues. “Rob mentioned some changes in security – more vaccinations, genetic tests, stuff like that. He said that people started talking and apparently, those who disagree with the system started disappearing.”

“Started what?!”

“They're just gone. No one knows what they're doing with them. But it's not just those who rebel, it's random people, Brian! It's so fucking… “

“I know,” Brian says when he sees that Gina's barely holding back tears. “It's fucked up. But there's nothing we can do, you know that, right?”

She nods, pain written all across her face. “I just wish we could save them. Let people know what's going on.”

“Too many people still trust them,” Mickey steps in, “It would take something huge to prove all this. Rob knows so much because he's scum who deals with scum, but the ordinary people? We've all been there. Inside, everything feels different. It's like the Protectors are gods. They'd never believe us.”

“How do they cover for the disappearances?”

“Rob said that when someone mentions it to those close to the abducted, they seem scared. Come up with excuses. I guess they're being threatened.”

“Well,” Brian says, “is that all?”

“Pretty much.”

“I'm glad you're okay. Just get some rest now, okay? I'll tell the rest what's going on, call a meeting. And… someone should tell Ian. I'll see if I can get Leslie to…”

“It's fine, I'll do it,” Mickey blurts out. “I'm too worked up to sleep or anything and it's better if he hears it from one of us, since we saw it first-hand.”

“Alright then. Gina, stop by Leslie's later, okay? Ask her for something to help you sleep.”

“Yes, boss,” she says, a weak smile tugging at her lips.

 

*

 

The morning after losing Pete, Leslie wakes up with red-rimmed eyes, her mouth feeling like she's swallowed ash. Her head feels dizzy from all the crying and it's a huge effort to finally stand up, reaching out blindly in the dark of her room until she finds a light switch.

She notices a mug of cold tea by her bedside and despite the fact that she feels like shit, she smiles when she remembers Iggy putting it there before he left last night. The man has been growing on her ever since he stood up for her all those years ago when she came to the shelter, broken and alone, only to be almost rejected when they found out she'd been helping their enemies for years. It's one of the reasons why she could relate to Ian so much – she'd literally been in his position before, and just like Iggy was to her, she wanted to be an anchor, someone who believed in him.

Leslie sips the tea as she brushes her hair and puts on clean clothes, then sets it aside before heading to the bathroom. She passes Karen and Lana on her way there and she smiles weakly, not finding the strength to greet them with words.

The cold water works like magic, waking her up fully and chasing some of the dizziness away. Once she's done in there, she decides to skip breakfast and head straight to Ruby's.

As expected, she finds Gareth there, sitting on the ground by the girl's bed and watching her sleep.

“Hey,” she says, her voice hoarse and shaky, but Gareth barely even notices. He keeps looking at Ruby, his usually neutral face open and vulnerable.

“How is she?” she whispers, caressing Ruby's cheek before sitting down next to Gareth.

“Better. She fell asleep just before sunrise. Cried herself to sleep,” he says, a small sigh escaping his lips. “It's awful for a child to live like this. She shouldn't have to experience these things. I wish I could give her more than this, you know? A normal life.”

“You're doing your best, Gareth. She might not be living a dream, but she's got someone who cares about her deeply. She's got a family.”

“Leslie?” Ruby mumbles sleepily. Leslie mentally curses herself for waking her up.

“Hey, sweetie,” she says, “go back to sleep, alright? I'll be right here, with Gareth.”

Ruby blinks a few times and then sits abruptly, fresh tears falling down her cheeks as she remembers.

“Shh, shh,” Gareth mutters into her hair when she throws herself into his arms, crying quietly.

_Kids should not cry like this. Like adults. She should be yelling and kicking and shoving them away._

“Ruby?” she tries after a few minutes, once Ruby has calmed down enough to pull herself away from Gareth.

“Can we go see him? Can we go see Pete, please?” she pleads and looks from Gareth to Leslie, then back again.

“Are you sure, Ruby? You should get some more sleep. We can go later, okay?” Gareth says at last, his voice soft and gentle.

“I don't want to sleep anymore. It's… I'd just like to say good-bye. Please?”

“Will you eat some breakfast after?” he bargains, a look of relief washing over his face when Ruby nods eagerly.

“Alright then,” he sighs, standing up and reaching out a hand for Ruby to take. “Let's go.”

Leslie is unsure whether she should go with them, but when Ruby wordlessly takes her hand as she's following Gareth outside, she sends her a sad smile.

Leslie hasn't been there for the funeral, she just couldn't. The pain and guilt are still there when they stop in front of the fresh grave, but it's a bit more bearable than yesterday.

Ruby doesn't cry out there, either. She just kneels down and puts her small hand on the rock for a second before pulling back. Gareth squeezes her shoulder gently and Leslie takes her other hand as they stand there together, each of them trying to properly say good-bye to the man.

“Would you like to say something?” Gareth asks her, but Ruby shakes her head.

“Pete didn't like listening to people much. He would always rather tell stories himself,” she says, causing Leslie to smile at one of the memories of Pete when he'd been better.

“That's definitely true,” Gareth replies, smiling. “Do you want to stay for a bit longer?”

“I'm okay. He's not here anyway, right? He's somewhere where it doesn't hurt anymore.”

“Of course.”

Leslie hugs Ruby before her and Gareth head inside, letting Gareth know that she'd like to have a moment to herself.

“I'll be right back,” she says. Once she's alone, she apologizes to Pete quietly, her eyes burning again as she does so. There are no more tears left in her after that night, though.

Leslie looks up from Pete's grave and feels a new sting of pain whenever her eyes land on another one. Five people buried underneath her feet. Five people that they lost. Pete, Eric, Ann, Hazel. The nameless girl. She's never met the two women, but she's heard stories. Ann was a friend of Brian's – she helped him and Gareth turn the place into what they now call home.

Hazel… No one really mentioned her, and Leslie never asked. She remembers the pain in Karen's eyes when someone did ask, and it was enough to stop her.

Eric. The wound is still so fresh, as if it could start bleeding again any second. His death hit her hard, hit all of them hard – Eric was one of the nicest, sweetest people she had ever had the chance to meet – but it was Mickey who had been crushed the most when it happened. Who could blame him? They might not have said it aloud, but they were in love. The kind of love Leslie had stopped believing in when the world turned into hell.

And then there is Ian's sister – the woman whose name she's never gotten to know. It makes her feel awful when she realizes this. It doesn't feel right.

“Lee?”

Startled, she turns to the source of the voice, finding Iggy leaning against the half-fallen fence.

“Sorry, didn't mean to scare you. I met Gareth and Ruby down there so… are you alright?”

“I'm good,” she says, “just wanted to think about them for a second. There's just too many graves, don't you think?”

“Yeah. Too fucking many.” He looks at them with the same sadness that's been choking her ever since yesterday, the sudden tiredness adding years to his young face.

“Thank you. For yesterday. I didn't mean to have a breakdown like that, it just got too much all of a sudden. Thanks for being there for me.” Has she ever thanked him before? For all that he's done for her?

“You'd do the same for me, Lee. For everyone – you already do. We'd be lost without you here.”

“Just because none of you can do proper stitches,” she laughs, the sound dying out shortly when it turns into a sigh.

Iggy makes a face when she mentions them and a small smile tugs on her lips. There are dark circles under his eyes – she's always wondered what color they are. Blue, green? Pale brown?

“Before,” Iggy says, his gaze unfocused, “when the time shifts were just starting… When no one believed in any of this strange shit, I never thought I'd get out of Chicago. It never once crossed my mind that there is a different kind of life out there waiting for me, you know? This isn't exactly what I imagined,” he says, gesturing at the emptiness around them, “but sometimes, when I remember all those years I spent wasting my life away… I'm kind of grateful. Not for the bad things, but for the fact that I'm doing something useful, you know?” He glances at her and looks down quickly, his brows furrowing. “Do you think I'm messed up? For finding something good in all this?”

“You're not messed up, Iggy,” she says, reaching out for his hand and hovering over it, the moment getting more and more awkward until he clasps her hand into his own, squeezing softly. “It's not all bad, you know? We wouldn't survive it if it was. This place is my home and you guys… you're my family. End of the world or not, I'm happy to have found all this.”

“Are you? Happy?”

Leslie notices the urgency with which he's asking the question and she wonders whether she's ever really been asked that. Not “are you okay?” or “how are you doing?”, questions that people only ever ask you when they want to hear “I'm fine, what about you?”.

Is she happy? Was she ever? “I don't know,” she answers truthfully.

“Me neither,” he says. “I'm more happy than not, I guess.”

“More happy than not,” she smiles, “I like that.”

“It's the name of a book I once read, got it from Mandy as a joke. She thought I couldn't read back then. I never pretended not to but nobody ever asked, so,” he shrugs, smiling at the memory. “She and Mickey were pretty much gaping when they realized I'd graduated from high school.”

“If I knew you back then,” she says, “I'd ask. You're… one of the most interesting people I ever met, Iggy. And it's not just that you're a literal genius – look what you've done to this place! – but no. You've remained kind when a lot of people would have become cruel. Would have lost themselves in this mess.”

She can see it's making him uncomfortable, being told those things, but she can't stand the thought of him not knowing how fucking amazing he is.

“Lee, I… Thanks.”

“Come on,” she says with a smile after a while. “Let's go back. Have you seen Mickey today?”

“Nah, he's out with Gina and Cat. Gareth told me earlier… He does seem really bad, don't you think? Gareth. He's always so tired.”

“Well, we all are. But he never once comes to me – he was literally hiding a broken wrist from me for weeks just so that I wouldn't force him any painkillers.” She shakes her head and laughs, remembering it all too well.

“That was kinda fun though. He kept sneaking to the main hall for food when you weren't there,” he chuckles. “Always fucking scowled when we laughed.”

The two of them climb back down to the shelter then, looking at the sky longingly before closing the entrance shut. Iggy tells her stories about Mandy and Mickey when they were kids, to which she adds some of her own, avoiding getting into too much detail. There aren't many happy memories, and even less that she likes to share.

“Oh, crap,” she stops mid-way when she remembers she wanted to go see Ian afterwards, and they're already way past the bedroom hall. “I gotta go back,” she says, “wanted to check on Ian before doing those files for Gareth. You wanna come along?”

“I'll walk you there, but… Uh. I'll stop by later, I guess. I don't think he wants to see me, or anyone really, but he won't mind you. Mickey told me a bit about how he was yesterday.”

“I haven't talked to him yet. Haven't even noticed him there with you yesterday,” she says, guilt creeping into her voice when she remembers her outburst.

“Don't,” Iggy warns her as they turn around and walk back. “No more thinking about any of it, alright?”

“Yeah, okay.”  _How did you know?_

When Iggy smiles and hugs her shortly before leaving her in the hallway, Leslie's heart beat picks up slightly. She smiles to herself but the worry comes back when she reaches for the door, changing her mind mid-way and knocking instead. It's pointless, the sound only a faint thump on the hard, metal surface, but it feels less intrusive when she opens the door.

Ian and Andrew are propped up against the wall, surrounded by a few pillows and trays from the kitchen. They look up in unison when she walks in, Leslie's eyes travelling to the game of cards they've got going on.

“Hey,” she says, “I tried knocking, but…”

“It's okay,” Ian replies, smiling, though his voice is just a little bit weaker than it should be.

“Fucker's been losing all the games anyways,” Andrew mutters and puts down his cards, causing Ian to huff in annoyance when he wins again. “So fucking unfair,” he mumbles.

“You wanna play?” he asks, but Leslie shakes her head abruptly.

“Nah, I never learned how. I'm fine with just watching you two if you don't mind me here.”

She sits down onto the only mattress in the room when Ian shakes it off, smiling faintly at the two. Who would have said they'd actually become friends?

Just as Andrew had mentioned, Ian is absolutely terrible at card games. He keeps losing, however many games she watches, and even though he's slightly annoyed, she notices that it's more for Andrew's sake than his. Mostly it just seems like he wants to have something to do, but not necessarily pay attention to it.

Leslie listens to the guys chat, Andrew always bringing up new topics when it's been quiet for too long but shutting up immediately when Ian seems to be getting anxious. It feels like she's watching a pair of old friends, like they've known each other for years.

“I can't believe you've never seen _Jaws_ ,” Andrew whispers, utterly horrified. “It's a classic, man. That's scandalous.”

“Didn't like movies much when I was a kid,” Ian shrugs, “then I started working and doing ROTC on top of trying to gather enough money to help us get through the week. Didn't have time for much else back then.” He flinches a bit when he mentions ROTC, maybe expecting them to only ever see him as The Soldier, nothing else, but that's never gonna be the case. Not once they've gotten to know him – he's slowly managing to crawl his way under their skin.

“It's kind of funny, when you think about it,” Andrew chuckles, “Money doesn't exist anymore, right? I don't even know if the people I live with used to be millionaires or poor fuckers like us. It's weird how much it used to matter, and now it's literally meaningless.”

“Yeah,” Ian grins though it's obvious that he's not paying much attention to Andrew.

“Ian?” Leslie asks though Ian doesn't look at her. He hasn't since she's entered the room, only ever looking at the spot beside her head. “Ian?” she tries again, his eyes gaze finally turning to her.

“I'm sorry,” he whispers, barely audible, though she hears it clearly.

“What?” she asks, confusion settling in. Andrew's eyes are glued to the back of Ian's neck, his posture tense.

“About Pete. I didn't mean to keep you away from him when he needed you.”

 _Oh god_ , she thinks when she remembers the night before. It's all blurry and doesn't make much sense, but she remembers what she said to Iggy when he got there. What Ian must have heard, too.

“Ian, that's… That's not at all how it was, it's not your…”

“Fault, I know,” he grimaces, “I've been told so already. Just wanted to tell you that I'm sorry.”

“Still, you really, really don't have to be. I wouldn't decide differently if I knew. I'm glad I saved your life, Ian.”

He seems like he maybe wants to say something else, but he settles on a slight nod. Leslie wills her hands to stop shaking, hoping that she could go back in time and unsay those words.

“Ready to finally lose?” he asks Andrew, picking up the scattered cards. Andrew's concerned expression immediately snaps into a careless grin. “Sure,” he replies, “keep dreaming.”

Hours must pass as she watches the two guys play, but it doesn't seem that long at all. The tension from the talk slowly leaves her body when the grins on their faces resume, this time genuine ones. It's obvious that Ian is still struggling with something, and her chest swells every now and then whenever she remembers the last night's events. Andrew seems as happy and careless as always, but Leslie knows he's concerned, too, deadly set on not bringing down anyone's mood by letting it show.

“Um, hey.”

Leslie looks up to the door, her brows furrowing with concern when she spots Mickey there. He's smiling and obviously trying to appear calm, but she can see that he's nervous, his breathing too fast and shallow.

“Did something happen?” she asks before the others have a chance to say hello.

He doesn't reply, just curses under his breath quietly. Fuck, fuck, fuck, this must be bad. The worst scenarios are already flashing inside her head as he says,

“Everyone's safe, we got here okay. But… I need to talk to Ian,” he sighs, looking up at him.

“What is it?” Ian asks.

“Should we leave?” Andrew steps in, looking from Mickey to Ian but the latter shakes his head. “No, it's alright. Mickey, what happened?”

Mickey rubs at his wrist absentmindedly, obviously trying to find the words. “A lot of shit. I'll tell you all the rest later, but there's something… We saw your nephew, Ian. At least I think, I mean…”

“What?” Ian gasps, his voice barely a whisper. “That's impossible. They're  _dead._ ”

“We saw the Protectors,” Mickey admits, causing them all to flinch, “a bunch of them in the city and then a lot more by the river. They had dogs and were snuffing around the place where Iggy said they had found you. One of them carried the kid, it looked like he asked him to identify the place. We were too far away to hear anything, they just disappeared after. They had a fucking helicopter, we thought they were after us until Cat spotted the boy.”

“Luke,” Ian gasps, his eyes wide and unbelieving. “I thought… “ his eyes are filling up with tears but he snaps them shut, letting out a muffled cry. “Was he alright? Was he hurt? If they hurt him I'll fucking kill them,” he grits out, looking at Mickey with the sort of desperation you only feel when someone you love is in danger.

“He seemed alright, but I can't be sure. We only saw them for a few minutes,” Mickey says apologetically.

Ian curses loudly and stands up, then sits back down again when his legs almost give out. He doesn't say anything for a while and Mickey seems like it hurts him just as much as it does Ian.

“I can't believe I left them there,” he says after a moment, “I can't believe I just let them take them. Fiona would rather for them to be dead than with those monsters.”

“We'll get them back,” Mickey blurts out with so much determination that Leslie doesn't doubt he means it. “They're not getting away with this, not this time. We'll fucking get them back to you, Ian.”

“How?”

“We'll figure out a plan. I promise. You can't fucking kidnap someone's kids. You just can't.” A flash of pain appears on Mickey's already tormented face, but it's gone in a second. He sits down on the ground, exchanging a look with Andrew that screams determination.

“Tell us what happened,” Andrew says, “all of it. Why were you in the city?”

Mickey glances at Ian shortly before answering, but Ian seems just as curious as the rest of them.

“Gareth asked us to meet Rob there. The fucking coward felt like it's safer or whatever. He's… he's told us some pretty heavy stuff. Brian said he'd fill everyone in later but…”

“Tell us,” Leslie presses, the bad feeling returning with its full force.

He tells them about the new security, the kidnappings and the people disappearing. Leslie feels her heart racing when she realizes how fucking close to getting caught they were in the city, how lucky they were to get back here safe. Mickey gets to the part when they saw Ian's nephew – Luke, and Ian looks equal parts murderous and terrified.

“I can't fucking believe this,” Andrew huffs out, “what are they doing with those people? How can they just… do this? Get away with it?”

Though she doesn't mean to, Leslie glances at Ian shortly, shoving the thoughts away.  _He's not like them. He never has been. He's a victim, just like the rest of us._

“I can,” Ian says quietly. “It's not hard to believe at all. You have no idea what's happening in there.”

They all exchange looks filled with horror, Leslie looking at each and every wall surrounding them, reassuring herself that they are safe. It's not enough though, it can't be, not when there are people out there, not when Ian's looking like that when he talks about it, not when they've got the kids and none of them knows how to get them back.

“What do you mean? The more we know about what we're dealing with, the better,” Mickey says cautiously. His knee bumps into Ian's casually, though he doesn't move it away. Andrew's knuckles are lightly pressed against his calf, and he and Mickey are almost breathing the same air. They've been slowly, inch by inch, pressing tighter and tighter together.

“I don't know many details, but… there are things I haven't told you. Mostly because I didn't want to think about any of it, but there is something you should know,” Ian says, looking at some spot on the wall.”

Leslie tries to suppress the panic, tries to appear as calm as possible. This is important. What Ian knows could help them… do what? Defeat them? As if.

“Do you remember the secret program I mentioned?” Ian asks.

“The one that researched the attacks…?” Mickey says slowly. “Yeah.”

“It wasn't just that. It was way, way bigger than that. At first I thought we were there to find out what caused them, but that wasn't it. Protectors already knew.”

“What?!” they all say in disbelief. That's just not possible. How could it be?

“It's not like they were gonna tell us or anything, we were just tools, a part of a bigger plan. They picked us out randomly, or so it seemed, but soon we found out that wasn't true at all. They… they only picked those unaffected by the second attack.”

“What the fuck do you mean, unaffected? We're all affected,” Mickey says harshly, his eyebrows almost meeting his hairline as he lifts them.

“No,” Ian replies. “There were maybe thirty of us, give or take. And all of us could see the colors just fine. Not the stars, those must have disappeared for real, but…”

“You can see colors?” Leslie breathes out, her voice shaking.

Ian nods once, looking at her apologetically. “I never stopped. I pretended to, at first, when everyone else stopped seeing them, and it never made sense to me. I thought I was the only one.”

“How is that possible?” Mickey asks, still too shocked to even close his mouth.

“I don't know,” Ian admits. “The others hadn't known, either. We were all being sent to the spots most affected by the time shifts. They built research centers there but I guess it was just a cover-up. We were always asked to run some programs on the computers. It was weird because none of us knew what we were doing and the people in there were more than capable of doing it themselves. Asking questions wasn't a wise thing to do though, so we just did what we were asked to. They kept getting more and more frustrated, as if they were waiting for something to happen and it never did.”  

“But who decides these things? Who runs all of it, who's bossing the Protectors around?” Andrew asks. There was never any official leader, which is why it's that much harder to figure the system out. It appears to have just always been there, no beginning, no leader, nothing.

“There is some kind of a higher circle, those, who were giving us orders,” Ian frowns, “but they're not the ones in charge. No one ever mentioned the person or people who are, either.”

“But that's not all,” he sighs. “When we were so obviously failing, the Protectors started bringing civilians with us. At first it was just one, maybe two people, but then… There were so many, I lost count. All of them brain-washed, many having undergone genetic changes and procedures to, I suppose, bring back their ability to see colors. Some of them already had it, like us, but the others… It was awful, those people were like zombies. Like they weren't even fully in charge of their minds.”

“Do you think that's what's happening now, too?” Leslie asks, fear leaking into her voice.

“It could be,” Ian replies. “The program had been on a break for a year or so when I left, but they could have renewed it.”

“And how do you know that they know what caused the attacks?”

“There were some… files. Some other soldier discovered them and I overheard a conversation once. It seemed like some sort of a contract, a business plan of sorts. Talked about a power plant and it getting shut down if the limits were not to be fulfilled shortly. That's all I heard then, but I managed to sneak into those files once. The attacks were described there in glorious detail, too.”

As Ian's words slowly sink in, so does the revelation that neither of them is even slightly ready to deal with any of this. They are a group of people who escaped their homes and built a new one together, people who had hoped to find something more, something better.

It's not just about saving themselves anymore, and that thought completely terrifies Leslie. It's always been her job to heal people, to help them. She never thought twice about it. What kind of a doctor – what kind of a  _person_  would she be if she just kept sitting here, safe and sound, while the rest of the world is slowly dying?

“We have to tell the others,” Leslie says, her lips pressed tightly together. She feels a strange mix of wanting to go out there right now and wanting to crawl even deeper into the ground than they already are.

“Tomorrow,” Mickey replies a few second later, causing them all to look at him in disbelief. “Look,” he continues quickly, “I know this all has been a lot of information to take in. My mind feels ready to fucking blow right now. But we can't solve a single fucking thing right now. Everyone is already on edge, but this? It would cause immediate panic.”

“It's unfair not to tell them, Mickey,” she pleads, her eyes filling with tears which she refuses to acknowledge.

“I know,” he admits. “I'll go to Brian myself first thing in the morning. But we need to think this through, come up with a strategy and knowing Brian, he'd want to do that straight away. So do I, really, but right now, my brain is mush. I'll go find Gina and Cat to see if they're alright and then we all need to get some fucking sleep.”

He looks at each of them, the exhaustion showing on his face briefly. Leslie nods at last when Andrew mumbles something about needing a few dozen hours of sleep, indeed. Ian doesn't look invested in the conversation in any way, his posture and expression unchanged since when he finished talking.

“I'll check on the girls, Mickey,” Leslie decides, “They'd have to come to me eventually, anyway, if something was wrong.”

“Thanks,” he mutters, his gaze unfocused. It's like they've all been struck by lightning – which, in a way, they have.

 

*

 

When Leslie walks out the door, it snaps Ian back into reality. His mind has been replaying the horrible images he had stored in there, images of people crying out in pain, begging for his help. He remembers looking away. He remembers tuning out the faint sound of screams filling up his ears. He remembers trying not to hate himself for it, and failing.

“I'm going for a walk,” he announces then, both of his friends – were they? Friends? – snapping as he stands up.

“Is it a good idea? None of us should be alone right now.”

“Mickey's right,” Andrew adds.

“I'm not disappearing again,” he says after a few long moments of silence. Being in that room even for a second longer feels impossible. “I'll be back soon. Just need a few minutes alone.”

Without looking back, he rushes out the door and towards the only place where he hopes he could find some solitude. The way there is rather unfamiliar which suits him better – this way, he has to pay attention to where he's going. His mind doesn't have time to race anywhere he doesn't want it to go.

He doesn't meet a single soul in the hallways, which makes him feel strangely calm. He's not being chased by anyone, nor is he caged in a place where he doesn't want to be. He's alone, but there are people who worry about him. It's a strange, odd feeling, one that he thought he wouldn't experience again.

His destination – the room with sun rays, the one so close to the surface – is completely different with the nearing sunset decorating the sky. It's filled with the warmth of a hot day ending, but also the kind of warmth that makes you feel safe, grounded.

It's not easy to think about Fiona. He's been trying to keep the thoughts about her buried in the very back of his mind, too afraid to open the box and let the emotions drown him, but now that they've found Luke, it feels like an insult to her memory.

“I'm sorry,” he whispers to the sunset, not even knowing to who and what for he is apologizing.

Amy and Luke are out there, somewhere. Scared and alone among people who had killed their mom, using them to get to Ian, too. The thought makes him want to scratch his skin raw. They could have been back at home now, with Fiona taking care of them instead of lying under the rock in the middle of nowhere. But he doesn't regret taking them with him – no matter how fucked up it seems, he can't regret that decision, not when he knows what Protectors are capable of.

“I'm sorry,” he says again, louder this time. He says it to Fiona, to Luke and Amy, to Lip and Debbie and Carl and Liam. He doesn't even know if they're alive. Fiona hadn't known, either. Would it be better if they were dead?

It's a strange few hours that he spends there. He enjoys the sun slowly setting, his mind racing through memories faster than he could process them. It's not like before, though – he doesn't use the memories to torture himself. He merely just witnesses them, mourns the people he had lost or left behind, apologizes for the mess he had made. It's no closure, can't be when there's still so much shit going on, but it's a step towards acceptance. A step away from the abyss, the edge of which he had been balancing on not long ago.

“Hey,” a soft voice calls from the doorway.

Ian shouldn't be surprised that Mickey went looking for him – it's been hours since he left his room. He looks up from the shadow he's casting on the ground and blinks slowly, calmly.

“I'll leave if you want me to,” Mickey utters quickly, “just wanted to check on you. Figured you'd be here.”

“It's a good spot,” he shrugs. “You can stay,” he adds after a beat.

Mickey joins him wordlessly, just like the last time, though everything is so much different now. It's like whole lifetimes have passed since that moment.

“Let's not talk about it anymore, yeah?” He glances at Mickey who nods in agreement, the relief visible in his pained eyes.

“Yeah. We'll deal with it tomorrow.”

It's not easy to let go, but Ian tries anyway. He tries to dissolve the memories, to shut down the worried thoughts. If only for a few precious minutes.

As they are lying down there, backs pressed against the cold metal, eyes closed, the only sound Ian can decipher is their breathing. His is still a bit rushed, but Mickey's is steadier, calmer. He tries to listen to it, to copy it so that his heart can finally slow down.

When Ian opens his eyes again, the sun is just about to go down. The last few rays are painting the room in dark gold, almost red if he squints his eyes a bit.

“What's it like?” Mickey says, “the sun? The colors? Everything?”

“It's beautiful,” he replies, glancing at Mickey whose face is bathed in gold and orange and red, whose eyes are wide open and intoxicatingly blue. His lips are parted and pink, slightly wet at the spot his teeth had grazed. “Beautiful,” he says again, so quietly that it could be mistaken for a breath.

“Do you miss them?”

“Sometimes,” Mickey says, a small crease forming on his forehead. “It was worse in the beginning but I got used to the idea. Feels weird to know not everyone's seeing the world in grey.” He chuckles lightly as he asks his question, “Cheesy as it is, what's your favorite color? Since you can still see them and all that.”

“Blue,” he replies right away, not even thinking about it.

“So predictable,” Mickey says jokingly, though he had tensed up for just a second; had looked at Ian like he was trying to read him before looking away.

“What was yours?”

“Dunno. I've never thought about it,” Mickey shrugs it off. “The colors don't bother me that much. It's… it's the stars, you know? I really fucking miss them.” As if on cue, they both look up at the darkening sky, the pink line of the horizon disappearing slowly.

Ian waits, hoping that the silence will prompt Mickey into telling him more. He seems reluctant though, the soft expression on his face already disappearing, but then their shoulders brush lightly and Mickey presses his arm alongside Ian's, the electricity pulling him closer like a magnet. “It's sentimental, you know?” he says at last. “Fucking pathetic. I don't remember much growing up, Ma died when I was a little kid, but I remember her teaching me about them. The stars, the constellations…”

“It's not pathetic,” he swallows dryly. Mickey's eyes are still unfocused, his mind most likely replaying those few memories. Ian wishes he could look into his eyes and see the same.

“Do you hate it here?” Mickey asks, the sky turning darker and darker with each passing second, making it harder to see his face.

“I don’t,” he frowns, “It's the closest thing to home I've had since I was a kid. I don't want to leave.” He thinks of all the times he'd thought about leaving – in the beginning, mostly, and realizes that he really doesn't want to anymore.

“What do you want, then?”

Ian can think of a million things _. I want to save Luke and Amy. I want to save everyone in here, and all the people out there, too. I want to go back in time, so that none of this ever happens. I want the pain to go away. I want the world to start making some sort of sense._

He can't bring himself to say any of that, though. The world feels so, so far away right now. It's ironic that they're just a few feet below the surface and yet he feels like he and Mickey are buried deep inside, the last people on Earth, maybe. All the thoughts he's been trying to shove away are threatening to reappear and as he shoves them right back, deep inside, all he can think about is the  _blue_  and the  _warmth_  and the tickling breath that he wants to feel on every inch of his skin.

And so the words he says come out in a bliss, in a single exhale, a quiet whisper that could just as well have been a shout from the rooftops.

“I want you to kiss me.”


	5. A little unsteady

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the silence that makes it real for Mickey. The too-stunned-to-talk, panic-filled kind of silence that stretches and stretches, suffocating them all until it's just too much to handle.

 

 

_“Maybe we just lived between hurting and healing.”_

 

_“I want you to kiss me.”_

 

At first, Ian thinks he imagined himself saying those words. He had to imagine it, because Mickey just keeps looking at him, not having moved an inch as the deafening silence takes over. But then there's a hint of confusion in his eyes and Ian realizes that yes, he did say it.

He turns away and closes his eyes, letting out a shaky breath. Maybe if he keeps them closed tightly for long enough, it will all be over soon.

Will he get punched? Rejected? Laughed at?

He waits another beat. And another one.

Then, he hears an exhale that's not coming from him, feels a shift in the air and the warmth by his side is gone, only to reappear right in front of him. He's too afraid to open his eyes, too shocked to do anything but lay still as he feels the feather-like touch of lips on his own.

Neither of them moves for a second, but then Ian snaps his eyes open. Mickey's kissing him, his eyelashes fluttering close against his cheeks and he's so close, his lips soft and warm and it's like an instinct to open his mouth slightly and taste them, to press himself closer when Mickey's breath hitches slightly in his throat.

Ian closes his eyes again and holds himself up on his elbow, feeling like he just can't get close enough. And then Mickey's hand is tugging on his hair and his tongue is darting out, licking into Ian's mouth. It's been so long since anyone has kissed him like this. So fucking long.

When Mickey pulls away from the kiss, it feels like a slap in the face. Ian is afraid to find him looking regretful, or to see his back as he's walking away. He can already feel the dread creeping back, the pleasurable void in his mind filling up with pain.

But that's not what he sees when he looks at Mickey; his cheeks are flushed and his lips wet, his eyes a combination of lust and need and pain and desperation, all in once, the exact same mix that's settled in Ian's chest.

Without giving it much thought, he sits up and pulls Mickey close once again, sighing when they crash together back onto the ground, ignoring the jolt of pain it sends into his back.

Once Mickey has delved back into the kiss, his kisses feel like fire on Ian's skin. They're sucking and biting on each other's lips, pressing as close together as they possibly can, breathing as heavily as if there isn't enough oxygen in the room. Ian's mind is a void, completely empty except for the sounds he's drawing out of Mickey, the taste on his tongue, the hands roaming around his body that cause his breaths to turn into moans.

Then, Mickey's hands travel down his chest, leaving hot traces wherever they touch and when his warm hand cups him through his jeans, Ian bites his lip hard enough to draw blood.

But he doesn't care. Right now, he doesn't care about anything at all.

“Do you wanna stop now?” Mickey mumbles against his jaw as he leaves a trail of kisses all the way to his exposed throat.

“Fuck no,” he blurts out, reaching for Mickey so that he could bring him back up.

But then, Mickey's weight is off him completely, and suddenly he feels cold all over. Mickey is holding out a hand for him to take, one eyebrow raised impatiently.

“Come on, then. My room. I ain't fucking in here.”

For the first time that day, Ian genuinely laughs, grabbing the offered hand and pulling himself up. Once the two of them aren't all over each other, he expects to feel guilty or regretful or any of the number of things he  _doesn’t_  feel. It's like he can finally breathe after all those months, can finally force his mind to shut the fuck up for a second.

It takes a lot of willpower and full-on concentration for Ian not to press Mickey against every single wall they pass as they are hurrying to Mickey's room. Whether they met someone, he doesn't know. He wouldn't be able to look away from Mickey, anyway.

“Fuck,” Mickey lets out a broken hiss after he finally opens the door and Ian's body practically collides with his, holding both of his wrists up as he grinds their hips together.

Taking their clothes off proves to be rather difficult. Ian still has to watch out for the stitches and there are a few awkward moments when they laugh and it doesn't make things weird – not any weirder than they already are, that is. Everything with Mickey, just like the kissing, is a fight. The kind of fight that leaves Ian breathless, begging for more.

“Wait,” Mickey mumbles in between the moans after Ian finished up on a hickey on his hipbone. “The drawer. I got stuff.”

Should it surprise Ian that Mickey actually has a stack of condoms and lube in his room? Probably not. It's possible that he's got a coffee machine or a fucking TV somewhere, too.

Despite all the hurry and desperate need to get there, they fuck slow and deep, Mickey eagerly meeting every one of Ian's thrusts, his lips parted in a wordless moan.

“Mother- _fucker_ ,” Mickey sighs out as they both collapse on the matress, breathless and covered in a sheen layer of sweat. There is a grin splayed across his face – Ian kisses it off.

“I'd kill for a cigarette right now,” Ian sighs, still in a mindless bliss from the high he's just experienced.

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Mickey utters. Then, after a few minutes, “How 'bout a round two?”

…

Ian isn't sure whether he should stay, but he does. Sleeping with someone else's arms pulling him close is a strange feeling, but not an unpleasant one. It makes him feel safe, like maybe even when the reality hits back in, he'll be able to deal with it. Maybe.

Even if not… It felt damn good to escape for a while.

 

*

 

When Mickey wakes up the next morning, he scoffs at himself for being surprised when his hands reach empty air. He opens his eyes and shuts them close again, groaning. This day will be a pain in the ass (no pun intended), he might as well allow himself a few more minutes of sleep.

Honestly, he didn’t expect yesterday to happen… like, at all. The emotional exhaustion had been creeping up on him for days, yesterday's events setting it off completely. He could see his friends suffering and he felt so fucking useless when he realized he couldn't fix any of it.

But then he decided to look for Ian. Maybe he hoped to fix at least  _something_.

_I want you to kiss me_

His heart picks up when he remembers. It was a shock, sure, but it's not like he hadn't thought about it before. It's not like he never imagined Ian saying such things… In a different world though, maybe. But here?

Then, though, when he got a taste of Ian, when he experienced the sudden need, Ian filling his mind up and allowing him to let reality go for a while… He didn't want it to stop.

“You up yet?”

Startled, he opens his eyes again, focusing on the figure standing in the doorway. It's dark in his room but the light from the hallway is enough for him to see Ian, his hair wet, wearing a different set of clothes than yesterday. When he doesn't reply, Ian steps in and hands him a steaming mug.

“Brought you coffee,” he shrugs. “Figured you'll need it today.”

He accepts it, muttering a quiet thanks as Ian settles on the matress next to him, leaning back against the wall and watching him intently.

Maybe it should be awkward between them – seeing that things kind of happened without them ever hinting at it before. But somehow, it's just a normal morning. Except that Ian, though he isn't as distant as he was before, has a heaviness in his eyes when he looks at him. Sadness, too.

Mickey feels it like a weight closing in on him – the realization that he'll have to face it all just a few moments later.

“I'm gonna take a shower,” he says when he finishes the coffee. “Will you, uh, come with me, later? To the main hall?”

“To tell others?”

“Yeah.”

“I'll be here when you come back,” Ian says after a beat of silence. Mickey nods and stands up, then walks to the door before Ian's voice stops him.

“Thanks. For looking for me yesterday.”

Mickey doesn't say anything, but he smiles at Ian until the nervousness causes the smile to falter. He walks out then, heading to the shower where, hopefully, he'll figure out a way to do this.

On his way back, he sees Andrew talking to Lana outside one of the rooms. Andrew lifts his eyebrows in a silent question and Mickey nods firmly, though he's anything but calm right now.

“I told Lana already,” he says instead of greeting.

“Good,” Mickey replies, turning his gaze to Lana. She seems shaken but her face is like carved out of stone. Her eyes are burning holes into him and she seems to be radiating heat all around her. That's when Mickey realizes that she's angry. No, she's absolutely fucking pissed.

“They will pay,” she says. It holds all the anger and all the fear that she manages to hide so well. Both he and Andrew nod, exchanging looks.

“How are we gonna do this?” Andrew asks.

“I guess we'll go to Brian, ask him to gather up everyone. Then we'll just tell the truth.”

Yeah, it sounds so fucking easy.

“I'll meet you two there, okay? I need to go to my room for something. Tell Brian to send everyone in but don't tell him anything, yeah?” he says and walks up to his room. They both turn around and go, not even arguing or replying to him. Is that what they'll all be like?

“Hey,” he says as he walks into the room. Ian, as he promised, is still there, though now he's standing by the boxes Mickey stores his stuff in – not rummaging through it or anything, just looking.

“Hi. Ready to go?” Ian asks.

Mickey walks up to him, willing his hands to just stop shaking. “Almost,” he says as he grabs Ian's chin, forcing his head down so that he can meet him in a kiss. He tries to savour the feeling of calmness it manages to spread through his body.

“Let's go.”

Ian looks torn for a second or two, but he follows Mickey out the door then, his face turning into that detached mask he's been wearing for so long. Mickey doesn't like it, but he knows he'd do the same if he knew how. He'd do anything to be able to seem like he's got things under control. To not look like he's about to break down any second.

As they walk, their shoulders brush every now and then, sometimes their fingers do, too. Sometimes, they linger a little too long before pulling away.

“Fuck this,” Mickey hisses when he walks into the room. Everyone's already seated, majority of them confused but other than that careless. Brian and Gareth are in the far corner, both of them frowning and looking more alike than they ever have. Cat and Leslie are with them, but Gina is nowhere to be seen. Andrew and Lana nod in their direction when they walk by and Mickey attempts to smile back.

“Will you tell me what the absolute hell is going on?” Brian snarls as soon as they're close enough.

“Nothing good,” he says quietly. Brian's eyes turn into slits and he lets out a groan.

“As if Rob's news weren't bad enough already. Fuck.”

“We need to tell everyone, Brian. That, plus what we found out yesterday,” he says and steals a glance at Ian who's just looking straight ahead. Brian notices, of course.

“You?” he asks, facing Ian. “What is it now? A nuclear bomb that the Protectors wanna drop on us?”

“Brian, calm the fuck down, okay?!” Mickey blurts out then, furious. “You act like we're doing this on purpose, like we enjoy bringing bad news. It fucking sucks for us, too, you know?”

By now, the whole room is watching them. Mickey can feel their eyes on his back, can hear the murmurs shifting in the background.

“What's going on?”

It's Mandy. The others still look indifferent, but she knows better than that. She's looking straight at Mickey, her big eyes mirroring the horror that Mickey himself is feeling.

“Everybody, listen up!” he shouts. Instantly, the whole room turns quiet.

Mickey, Cat and Ian do their best to explain everything they've found out. It takes longer than any of them expected, mostly because people go from angry outbursts to fear-induced questions. Every single one of them looks completely terrified by the time they're done.

It's the silence that makes it real for Mickey. The too-stunned-to-talk, panic-filled kind of silence that stretches and stretches, suffocating them all until it's just too much to handle.

“We're not fucking done yet!” he shouts, as loud as he can. So riled up that he can barely hold it together. “There has to be something we can do. Giving up right now and hiding in here for the rest of our lives until they come to get us isn't a good fucking plan.”

“What do you suggest we do, then?” Karen asks suddenly, surprising everyone by being the most collected of them. She barely seems affected at all, though her determination could match Mickey's. It's obvious that she's excited about kicking some ass.

“We'll figure out a plan. The most important thing is for them to be exposed. For the public to know. There's more of us than there's of them – if the civilians knew the truth, Protectors wouldn't stand a chance,” he says – though he realizes just how unlikely it is that they'll succeed.

“Um, guys?”

Mickey turns to the door where Gina, Iggy and Jackson are – where had they been? He didn't even notice them gone.

“What?”

“We know what's going on, and we might have a solution. Or a first step, at least,” Iggy announces proudly. It takes Mickey a moment, but eventually, he notices what his brother is holding up for everyone to see.

“You figured it out?” he asks in disbelief.

“Yeah,” both Iggy and Jackson reply in unison. Then, they start cheering – the others don't know what's going on, but the tension brought by the news seems to be slowly dissipating.

“Wait, wait,” Brian steps in, his eyes glued to the two dancing idiots. “Tell us everything. How did you do it? What can we do with it?”

“About everything you want to,” Ian says. He's just as mesmerized by the device as Brian is, his frown deepening even though he smiles slightly as he steps forward.

“All we know is that it provides access to the DAMs. We figured we could turn it all off, the whole online system they've got going on,” Jackson explains, visibly thrilled that Ian seems to know more than that.

“That's true,” Ian admits. “May I?” he holds out his hand for the strange thing and Iggy hands it over. Ian studies it for a second and then holds it by both ends, slowly pushing them together. It folds into itself and the small screen lights up.

“We figured that much,” Iggy snorts, though he's grinning in excitement.

“How did you get this?” Ian asks.

“Um, we stole it? One of the guards knows Jackson here, we convinced him to leave it for us somewhere. Um, more like, threatened him.”

“Smart,” Ian laughs. “But this is way more than just a key to the DAMs. It gives you access to the computers in The Central. Or anywhere, for that matter, but that's what we're aiming at, right?”

“The Central? It could get us there?” Iggy asks at the same time as Brian blurts out, “Are you fucking insane?!”

They all look up at Brian who seems about ready to lose his shit. “We can't go to The Central!” he shouts, obviously riled up by the lack of reaction. “Come on! How the fuck would we pull that off? We can barely get through the borders and it's only thanks to Vladimir, anyway. We'd get caught before driving fifty miles!”

“That's what a plan is for, Brian,” Cat grins from the back. A few people whoop and suddenly it feels like everyone's way more excited than anything else. They needed something like this – a push, a sign that they're not just bugs playing dead, waiting for the real deal.

 

*

 

“Oh. My. Fucking. God.” Mickey grits each word out through his teeth, falling facedown onto his bed. It's been hours and hours since they started coming up with a plan and it only got more and more exhausting. Turns out, it's not as easy as everyone had thought. Mickey tried to be optimistic at first, but now he's just grumpy. Tired, exhausted, still a bit panicky, completely terrified and, on top of it all, someone's persistently knocking at his door.

“Fuck off!” he manages but the door is already thrown open. He closes his eyes and wishes that whoever it is will get the hint and go away.

“That's not nice,” Gina says in a fake-offended voice. Mickey groans and squints an eye open, frowning when she invites herself onto his bed.

“I said fuck off. Sleeping.”

“Yeah, right. I'll leave you to it, grumpy,” she chuckles, pinching his side.

“Ouch! What the fuck?!”

“Relax,” she rolls her eyes. “I just wanted to tell you something. Everyone thinks so, but they're too chicken-shit to disturb you when you're like this.”

“They've got a good fucking reason,” he mutters but sits up, still scowling. “What is it?”

“You did really good, Mickey. You've been doing better than any of us. It's not an easy situation and you managed to turn it into a fight instead of a suicide ride.” Her eyes are big and honest, her dark curls falling down her too round, baby-like face. Mickey swallows dryly, unsure what to say.

“Um. Thanks. It's not really…”

“Oh, please, don't. Just accept it, okay? I'm fucking proud of you, Mickey.”

“You're okay, too, I guess,” he jokes, earning himself a nudge in the ribs. “Ouch, stop it!”

“You ruined our moment. We were doing so good!”

“Yeah, well,” he shrugs, smiling when he manages to move his arm before she could land the punch.

“They're still arguing,” she sighs then. “I know it's important to come up with a plan, but this won't solve anything. We all need to fucking stop for a minute, catch our breath, then brainstorm where to start.”

“We will. Not now though, only if you want me murdering Protectors one by one out of lack of sleep,” he mumbles, his eyelids already dropping shut.

“Not that bad of an idea,” she chuckles, standing up promptly. “I'll leave you to it then.”

Mickey mutters a goodbye, already halfway sleeping when she peeks inside the door once again. “Hey, Mickey!”

“What?”

“Nice hickey.”

Then she's gone.

“What the fuck?” he mumbles to himself, way too tired to even care. Soon, he's fast asleep.

 

*

 

After two weeks, things are looking a bit better.

So far, their plan looks something like this:

Convince Vladimir to help them get into one of the smaller towns in disguise, hack the DAM, leave. Then, once the system is weakened, somehow get into The Central where Ian, Iggy and Jackson will attempt to hack into the main system. Get information and leak it. Find out where those people are keeping Luke and Amy and take them, then leave. Simple.

It's not much, and it definitely lacks some huge steps, but at least they are getting somewhere. Waiting, however, is the worst. Vladimir is stubborn as always and despite Lana's several attempts to get him to agree, he still refuses to help them. She says she's got a plan though, so they're giving it another chance before figuring out something else.

“I hate that prick,” Mickey mutters, not for the first time that day. “Fucking slimy asshole. I hate it. Lana may act tough, but I know she despises him.”

“You can't change her mind, you know,” Ian says in the same, lazy voice. “She's… well.”

“Tell me about it,” Mickey chuckles lightly. “Imagine travelling with her all the way here. Her yelling swears in Russian whenever we almost got caught… It was hilarious, but fuck. Never again.”

“How'd you get out?”

“I just ran,” he shrugs. “Got lucky. Mandy and Iggy saved my ass so many times, I've lost count. I was kind of an asshole then.”

“Even bigger than now?” Ian grins.

“Fuck you,” he scowls, though there's a small smile tugging on his lips. “We met Lana and she took us in. She's basically the only reason we're alive.”

“Hmm. Gotta thank her for that,” Ian mutters into the skin just below his ear, grinding against his hips.

“Fuck, again?”

“Shut up. And turn over.”

Smiling, he does just that. “Bossy fucker.”

 

*

 

The thing is, Mickey has no idea what's going on with him and Ian. It started as something they both needed at the time. A necessity. Mickey had no idea how it was gonna continue, but he certainly hadn't pictured this.

Small things, like Ian tagging along when he is finishing up jobs for Brian, or the two of them skipping breakfast sometimes and bringing the food into one of their rooms instead. Fucking on every occasion, on every surface, in all the rooms they can. Morning coffees. Just fucking hanging out together, reading books, forgetting the rest of the world for hours. Talking about things he hadn't even known he wanted to talk about. Being there for each other when things get overwhelming – which they do, often.

It's overall just really weird. How fucking easily he has got used to spending time with Ian when he barely even knew him before. How much he needed him, sometimes, however pathetic it sounds when he says it to himself. But he did. He does.

Though things are getting better – they have been making progress with the planning, the mood in the shelter has visibly improved, no one got hurt or anything – there  _is_ something going on with Ian. Something that's been going on for a long time, something Mickey thought would go away once Ian got rid of most of the stress factors in his life.

The constant panic attacks. The nightmares. The days when he can't seem to do anything but stare at the wall, stare at the food he doesn't eat, stare at Mickey as he keeps lying in bed. All Mickey wonders is, how long has it been going on? Was it just since he escaped? Has it been years?

Ian is depressed, there is no other explanation. And he totally refuses to acknowledge it. Some days, he feels okay, like nothing is wrong at all – Mickey can see that, but other days, it's just…

“Mick?”

Frowning, Mickey looks up from his book. He's been reading one of those Leslie gave him, propped up on the very edge of Ian's bed where Ian has fallen asleep a few hours ago.

“Yeah?”

Ian's eyes are alert, as if he's been watching him for a while now. The top of his head is pressed against Mickey's thigh, his face totally unreadable from upside-down. Then again, it's always unreadable.

“Are we just fucking?”

_Yes_

But they're not, are they? Mickey's mind is racing and he's looking for a clue what to say.

He settles on, “I don't know.” Then, he sighs and adds, “Don't think so.”

Ian doesn't say anything, which just makes it so much worse. What if he's the one trying to keep things casual? What if Mickey just majorly fucked up?

“Okay,” Ian says after a while. He smiles lopsidedly, “you can get back to reading that garbage.”

“Excuse you,” he blurts out, all the tension gone. “It's very entertaining.”

“Please tell me you're joking and you're only reading them ironically,” Ian says, frowning at one of the Harlequin novels Mickey has been so into these days. Little does he know that Mickey does, indeed, read them just to spite him.

“Dunno what you're talking about,” he shrugs, returning to his novel.

Ian scoffs but doesn't say anything else, making it that much harder for Mickey to pretend to read and secretly watch him, now that Ian's eyes are glued to him.

“Staring, much?” he says, not taking his eyes off the book.

“Yeah,” Ian replies, shrugging. “You are kind of nice to look at.”

“Asshole.  _Kind of_  my ass.”

“Okay then,” Ian rolls his eyes, “want me to tell you how I think you're utterly gorgeous? How I could probably draw you from memory by now? How just looking at you can keep me from losing it sometimes?” He swallows and snaps his mouth shut. Though it began as teasing, Mickey realizes that he probably said more than he intended to.

“You're not so bad yourself,” Mickey says with half a shrug when the silence has grown a bit too uncomfortable. Ian's mouth curls into a small grin then, causing Mickey to pick the book up higher so that his smile won't be too obvious. He's not gonna turn into a fucking softie, thank you very much.

With no warning at all, the door to Mickey's room flays open, colliding loudly with the wall in momentum. Just as Mickey is about to curse whoever did it, Lana bursts into the room like a fireball, throwing herself at him so hard that, had he been standing, she would have knocked him off his feet.

“Lana? Lana, are you okay?!”

His words are muffled and strained from how hard she's squeezing him and it takes a moment for him to register that she's laughing. Honest to god, full on laughing. He has never heard her laugh like that before.

“I did it! He will help us. Vladimir will help us!” she blurts out excitedly, her whole face lit up like a goddamn Christmas tree.

“Really? He agreed to the plan?” Before Ian spoke, Mickey momentarily forgot that he's there. His face looks excited, thrilled even, but he's holding back still, not letting the hope take over just yet.

“Yes, yes!” she says at last, finally letting go of Mickey and sitting down next to them. “He says he will get us all in, make sure no one bothers us until we get to the nearest town. Then secure the way back. He will also help with the next mission, but I did not say anything about The Central, of course.”

Lana's still beaming with joy, and she's obviously pleased with herself. Mickey feels like he might hug her himself then, but they have covered enough dramatic interactions in the last few weeks to last them a lifetime.

“How did you do it?” he asks, trying not to think about it too much. He just wants to see whether she's hiding something – whether Vladimir didn’t hurt her somehow.

“I said I had plan,” she shrugs, avoiding his eyes. “It worked, yes? Let's move on. We need to start strategy.”

“We're really doing this,” Ian breathes out quietly, glancing at Mickey and smiling when he finds a similar hope-filled expression on his face. Mickey knows there's something up with Lana, something that she won't tell him, but pushing her would be absolutely pointless. Best case, he'd lose a few limbs in the process. But he's determined to find out – whether she likes it or not.

“Do you think we're ready?” Lana asks then, her smile faltering a bit, though it's obvious how happy she is for having been able to do this.

“I guess we'll find out,” Mickey says with a smile, “We'll work out a plan and do this as soon as possible. I'm done sitting on my ass while the world is going to shit. We've all been dreaming about making a change – well, we might as well try now.”

“We fight or we die trying.”

Mickey's eyes snap to Ian, his smile widening at the faint memory of having said those words once. It's true, he thinks. They have chosen this path when they ran away, all of them. For them, it doesn’t mean wanting to hide for the rest of their lives – it means refusing to bow before the monsters who took everything from them. Now, it's time to expose them, to take back what's theirs. It's time to start a revolution.

 

*

 

For Ian, the last two weeks have been completely surreal. After finding out about Luke, his mind has been constantly alert, the fear and worry entangling with the determination to get his family back. It's what kept him from losing himself in guilt – the hope that maybe, all of them will get out of this just fine.

Though he certainly hadn't expected that, Mickey helped a lot, too. Not just as a distraction, which he had hoped him to be at first, no. Being in his presence doesn't make Ian forget his worries like it did the first time. It doesn't make the constant fear go away. But Mickey helps him stay focused on the hope instead of all the reasons they might not make it. He probably isn't even aware of doing it.

Mickey, Andrew and Leslie have all become reasons to keep fighting. After losing track of his family, then losing Fiona and thinking he'd lost Luke and Amy, too, Ian didn't see much point in it. He never thought he'd ever feel like this again – the need to protect someone else, the knowledge that they would all fight for him, too. That they're family. Even when some days felt impossible to get through, or when he was losing hope, seeing them helped him get back up.

After Lana's announcement that day, he felt like he's been reborn. Ian knew it was dangerous, to give in to the hope when they haven't made it yet, but every day until then, when he was doing nothing while Luke and Amy were out there made him feel so useless. Now, they have a starting point. After coming up with a plan for three days – which felt like eternity – they are finally about to do this.

“No! See, this is why I wanted at least one of you to stay here,” Gareth whines after putting stop to a fight between Jackson and Iggy over who gets to “create a little bomb to buy them some time.”

“No fucking bombs, Jesus!”

“It was just an idea,” Jackson mutters sulkily, though he backs up when he sees the look on Gareth's face. “Okay, no bombs. Promise.”

“Thanks. Now, focus guys. We're doing this tomorrow. I need all of you to take this seriously because no matter how prepared we are, there's always a chance that we'll get arrested or killed. Are you all sure you want to do this? No one will blame you if you choose to back out.”

Gareth looks at each of the people who have agreed to go on the mission, probably looking for any sign of uncertainty in their faces. He finds none.

“We're in, boss,” Iggy says. All of them – Jackson, Mickey, Ian, Lana – nod shortly, each of them with the same determination in their eyes. Ian still thinks it's a bigger risk for that many people to go, but it's necessary. Lana is their ticket through the border, plus she can stay calm and focused even when most of them would lose their shit. Iggy and Jackson will do their thing with the DAM -- with Ian there to help them navigate the system, that part should be no trouble at all. Mickey and Gareth both refused the option of staying at the shelter.

“Great,” Gareth says at last, offering them one of his rare smiles. “Now get the fuck out of here. Go to sleep early – I want us on the road before sunrise.”

Ian gets up and walks out of Gareth's office with the rest, unable to wipe the smile off his face. Andrew is waiting in the hallway and he rolls his eyes when he sees Ian walking out.

“For a man with a big chance of getting killed soon, you look really fucking excited.”

“There was always a chance that I'll get killed,” Ian replies, shrugging. “Now I can do something about it. Finally stand up to those fuckers.”

“Just don't play a hero and run if you hear bullets flying, yeah? We spent a lot of time putting you back together the last time, I'm not carrying your ass around for another two weeks.”

“Yeah, I'll be careful, Andrew,” he says with an eye roll, though his smile grows bigger, if that's even possible.

“You fucking better,” Andrew mutters, bumping into him a bit harder than necessary. He looks careless, as always, but it's obvious that he's worried. Ian knows for sure that he wanted to go with them, but there are too many of them already. It's just unlike Andrew to stay at home while the action's taking place.

It's just them now, having parted ways with the others in front of the main hall. Andrew promised Ian something special to take his mind off things before tomorrow, and now they're headed up into the warehouse.

“Why are we here again?” Ian asks once they've climbed up the hidden entrance, sulking when Andrew grins but doesn't reply. He tries to ignore the still-too-fresh memory of the last time he's been there – the day they buried Fiona. Even if he doesn't say anything, Ian thinks that Andrew must have noticed his uneasiness. He takes his eyes off the door that leads outside and looks at Andrew expectedly. “Well?”

“Come on,” Andrew says and turns around, the momentary regret gone from his face when Ian snaps back into reality. He leads Ian further into the warehouse, using a small flashlight to see in the otherwise pitch-black room.

Then, he stops, grinning at Ian as he sits down on a pile of boxes and puts the flashlight down, aiming it up so that it creates a small ring of light on the low ceiling. Ian joins him, confused, but then Andrew reaches into his pocket and pulls out a paper bag, handing it to him. Ian reaches into it, pulling out a few joints and a lighter.

“Oh my God,” he whispers, completely shocked. “How the fuck did you get this?!”

“Don't ask,” Andrew chuckles, raising his eyebrow. “Are you gonna pass me one or do you wanna chat until we're old?”

Ian's smile reappears as he lights one for himself and passes the rest to Andrew, leaning his head back against the wall as he inhales. “I don't remember the last time I got stoned. I fucking love you right now.”

“I'm touched,” Andrew replies with his hand on his heart, expression solemn. “Better don't say that shit in front of Mickey, or he'll kick my ass,” he says as he breathes out the smoke. Ian raises an eyebrow, but he's not really surprised that Andrew noticed something.

“It's not like that,” he shrugs.

“Yeah, right.”

Ian ignores the obvious sarcasm and gets back to enjoying his weed, eager to feel the effect spreading through his body. It's almost easy to imagine that he's fifteen again, smoking with his brother in the old van in their backyard, laughing at whatever weird story Lip's telling him. He wishes he knew where his siblings are, more than anything. He hadn't seen any of them after leaving for the army, and he only met Fiona by sheer luck. She said they split them up just a few months after he left, and she never heard from any of them again. Her husband was killed during the rebellions and though she felt awful about leaving their siblings behind, she didn't hesitate when Ian asked her to run away with him.

“I was serious about tomorrow,” Andrew mumbles once they have smoked through most of the stuff he brought. “Come back. You all have to come the fuck back. I have half a mind to go with you, fuck what Gareth says.”

“There's too many of us already. We'll be fine, Andrew.”

“So you keep saying,” he blurts out, his usually calm demeanour getting replaced by worry. “I don't know what it is about you,” he says after a moment. 

“What do you mean?” Ian asks.

“We've been living here for years. And we  _never_  made a move. Sure, we didn't know what we do now but it would have been easier then, you know? Less security to get through. And then you come here and when people stop hating you, they all just fucking… you know what I'm talking about. You gave everyone hope. Showing up here, telling us that there are more people like you – soldiers who are on our side? Do you have any idea how fucking surreal that is? You may not have made the decisions, but it's you, Ian. You kicked us into action. Gave us hope.”

“No,” Ian stutters after a few seconds it takes him to comprehend what Andrew is saying. “No, Andrew. It's entirely the other way around. I had resources before, but I chose to stay silent, to run away. I knew what was happening and yet I'd rather leave and save my own skin than help those people. It's different now – I'm not doing this for myself. I'm doing it for Luke and Amy and you – all of you, but the reason for that is still selfish. It's because you are my family. You're all I've got.”

Andrew studies him for a moment, but Ian's face is unreadable in the dim light. He's silent for a few moments, studying the smoke rising up and creating shapes before vanishing in the dark, but then he sighs and says, “Think what you want, but I believe what I said. You sure did give  _me_  hope.”

Ian frowns, unsure what to say to that. But Andrew continues. “I've lost all hope years ago. Probably never had any to begin with. Everyone always thinks I'm sure of myself, sure that we'll win this war, but in reality, I've just resigned. Made my peace with the fact that we'll all die soon and that the world will end up in a huge pile of shit. You coming here… I think it changed something for me. Like a mental slap in the face,” he laughs then, though his face is still open and honest. Ian feels a strange mix of emotions, but most of all, he's incredibly glad to be able to call Andrew his friend.

“I'd slap you in your face anytime,” he replies, cursing when Andrew punches him in the arm.

“That fucking hurt,” he mutters, though both of them are now grinning like crazy. Andrew's serious face is gone again, replaced by a smug smirk as he shrugs, “Good.”

They spend the next hour laughing and avoiding the topic of tomorrow's mission. Ian's mind feels lighter, his body less tense and he seriously considers hugging Andrew for having had this idea.

“What do all those tattoos mean?” Ian asks after another laughing fit, hoping it's not too weird of a question to ask, but he's been wondering about it since the day he saw them. Andrew doesn't show them off much, it almost seems like he's hiding them most of the time. Not like he's ashamed, but… Ian can't figure it out.

He turns to Andrew when he doesn't reply and sees a glimpse of conflict flash across his face. He's about to say it doesn't matter, but Andrew smiles and takes his jacket off, leaving just the tank top on. Ian traces the tattoos again -- he's only ever seen them twice, and never this up close. There doesn't seem to be any pattern to them, they're just motives and words and –

“I got the first ones when I was eighteen,” Andrew says quietly, bringing his fingertips to his wrists and tracing the sunflowers tattooed there. The skin under them is uneven, each flower covering a thick scar.

Ian's eyes are glued to them – now that he's noticed them, they're pretty obvious. He traces the tattoos up Andrew's forearm with his eyes, discovering more and more scars – these are harder to spot, almost invisible under the ink, the only indication of their existence the way they stand out on the otherwise smooth skin.

“I'm not ashamed of them,” Andrew says with a sigh. “I just didn't want them to be the first thing people see when they look at me. I didn't want to always be that kid who cut himself, that kid who slit his wrists, that kid who is always looked at with pity. The tattoos were a way to reclaim my body, in a way. This way, I can decide who sees,” he looks up at Ian.

Ian knows he should say something, but his mouth feels slack. He's looking at Andrew and trying to picture him in his teens, frightened and desperate, desperate enough to want to end it all – but he can't. He only sees Andrew, the strongest person he knows here, the one who always knows what to say and when to be quiet, who seemed to be the only one before Mickey came around to understand, at least partially, how he felt. It never even occurred to him that the reason Andrew knows might be that he felt something similar, once.

“Thanks. For showing me.” That barely covers it.

Andrew nods and puts his jacket back on, the smile finding its way back on his face. “I trust you. You're a shithead, but I trust you. Don't get weird about it and we're cool.”

“I won't,” Ian replies, “Your past doesn't define you. This is the former Protector soldier speaking.”

“Well fuck,” Andrew laughs then, “Now I certainly feel better.”

“Can I ask you something?” Ian asks after a while, not sure whether Andrew is the right person to ask – but he doesn't want to ask Leslie and upset her somehow. He never wants to see her upset again, not after the last time.

“Dude, I just told you something very few people know and it wasn't even the weed. You can ask me anything.”

Ian sighs and asks, “Who's Eric? I never asked, but people used to mention him when they talked about me. Leslie, especially. Brian, too. And Mickey.”

Andrew frowns, thinking. “Maybe you should ask Mickey that.”

“I'm asking you.”

Rolling his eyes at his childishness, Andrew mutters something and then says, “He was in a group that I joined on the way here. Eric, Gina, Cat, Karen and I were the first ones to live in this place after Gareth and Brian got here. He fucking saved us all. Everyone loved the guy – I mean it when I say that he was the kindest person I've met.”

“How did he die?” Ian asks, only having heard bits and pieces but wanting to make sure.

“A Protector killed him,” Andrew admits. Ian knows there's more to it, so he keeps looking at Andrew, prompting him to talk. “A Protector we captured,” he admits at last.

Ian's eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and he doesn't connect the dots immediately, but when he does, he feels his heart sink into his stomach.

“That's why Brian told Mickey to decide what to do with me?” He stutters at last, the whole thing finally making sense.

“Yeah,” Andrew says. “Mickey and Eric… They were a thing, but not in a casual way. More like, a soulmate way. No one knew until after Eric had died, though, but we connected the dots when Mickey acted all… That's something you need to ask him, really. But that's not the whole reason why Brian did that. When we captured those Protectors – there were two – Eric wanted to go in there and negotiate. He had a way with words, thought he could make them talk. Mickey wasn't having it and none of us were thrilled with the idea, either. But then, Eric sneaked out while many of us knew he was gonna do that. We said nothing, blinded by the possibility of getting information – we didn't know anything about what the world was like out there, then. One of them had a hidden knife. Brian and Leslie were there, but they couldn't do anything to stop the soldier from slitting Eric's throat. Brian shot them both on the spot, but Eric was dead. He and Leslie have been blaming themselves ever since.”

“Fuck,” Ian breathes out, thinking that about sums it up. Some things make more sense now – like Mickey's hatred in the beginning, but some even less so – how come Leslie hadn't hated him? He wouldn't have blamed her. He must have said the last part aloud because Andrew's giving him a quizzical look, eyebrows raised.

“Leslie doesn't think like that. She despises violence, in all forms, revenge included. Killing you wouldn't have given her any satisfaction. She'd deal with it if it was necessary, but I know she was relieved when it turned out you weren't an enemy.”

“But hey,” Andrew says then, frowning, “the whole point of dragging your ass up here was to get your mind off things. Enough with the serious shit.”

“Yeah, alright,” Ian agrees, succumbing to the still present sense of calmness. “I really owe you for this. Furniture, good food, water – that I can understand. But pot? Seriously? How the fuck – “

“Don't ask, I mean it,” Andrew cuts him off, grinning. “Just let me know if you want some. I've got my ways.”

“Thanks,” he says appreciatively. They stay up there for a few more hours, but eventually, Andrew insists that they get back down.

“Gareth says y'all need your beauty sleep before tomorrow, so let's fucking get you tucked in.”

Ian flips him off, but he stands up and follows Andrew back down. It's not that late yet, but he knows it's important that they are all fully focused and rested tomorrow. Andrew salutes him as he walks into his room and Ian grins in response, opening his door.

He's a bit surprised to find Mickey sleeping in there, but it's not like it didn't happen before. He smiles at the sight and changes his clothes quietly, trying to find his way in the dark. Once he's done, he climbs into bed and lies down, back pressed against the wall, arm curling around Mickey's waist. He's not tired, but he forces his eyes to close, breathing in Mickey's scent and trying to match his own breathing with his.

 

*

 

He wakes up, screaming.

It takes him a moment to realize where he is – the room isn't his own but it's strangely familiar, the body behind him radiating warmth that's not suffocating him.

He looks down on his hands and expects to find blood there, but they're clean. Shaking, but clean.

“Mickey? What's wrong?”

His head jerks to the source of the sound, his eyes finding Ian's concerned ones.

_You're safe. It was just a dream. You're all safe._

“Sorry,” he mutters, his voice hoarse. Ian sits up, his face scrunched up with worry. He reaches out for his hand, but Mickey jerks back, hissing when he realizes what he's doing. His whole body is shaking, still, and he's acting irrationally. There's nothing to fear here.

“Sorry,” he grits out again, curling his arms around his torso to force them to stay still.

This time, Ian looks scared, even, which is why Mickey adds, “Just a nightmare. Go to sleep, didn't wanna wake you up.”

“Don't say you're fucking sorry,” Ian mutters, “do you wanna talk about it?”

“No,” he says quickly. “Not now,” he adds. “We should go back to sleep.”

“Okay,” Ian agrees after a beat. Mickey lies down on his back, looking up at the dark ceiling, the only light coming from under the door. He feels Ian shift beside him, turn on his side and ask, “can I hold you?”

He swallows dryly but mutters, “yeah.” Ian lays an arm around his waist, just barely touching, but he pulls himself closer and kisses his shoulder lightly. Mickey's heart is still beating too fast from the nightmare, the images still vivid in his mind, but the simple gesture – the fact that Ian had asked about such a small thing – it causes him to smile before closing his eyes.

Just a few moments later, when he feels himself falling asleep, he hears Ian whisper quietly, more mouthing the words on his shoulder than actually saying them. “You're safe.”

When they wake up, it feels like only a few hours have passed. Mickey is still tired, but he pushes his needs aside, knowing that he needs to focus right now, more than anything. Their group meets up in the storage room where they pack everything they might need and grab some breakfast before walking up to the car. None of them say much before they're on the road, trying to get there as soon as possible, but it's obvious that they're getting nervous, too.

“Everyone, are you ready?” Gareth asks a few hours later when they're close to the border. They stop the car just out of sight in case Vladimir bailed on them – but they spot his car on the side of the road not long after.

“Yeah,” they all mutter in unison. Vladimir gets out of the car and walks up to them, smiling widely. He's dressed in black from head to toe, his sunglasses way too big for his face.

Wordlessly, he opens the passenger's door and holds it open for Lana to get out. The rest of them look confused, but Lana must have known about this because she stands up quickly, muttering, “It's okay,” before she closes the door and leaves with Vladimir to his car. Shortly after, Vladimir drives the car to the border.

“I hope she knows what she's doing,” Gareth says nervously. Mickey's thinking the same thing – Vladimir could be selling her or something at this very moment.

Gareth starts the engine again and follows Vladimir's car, driving through the border and letting out a breath when nothing happens. They expect to find Vladimir's car parked somewhere, but they can't seem to find it anywhere.

“Do you think he went straight to the Market?” Iggy asks confusedly, looking around in hope to spot the car.

“Probably,” Gareth replies. “I don't like it.”

“Tell me about it,” Mickey grits out, nerves getting the best of him. It only gets worse when they get to the Market and Vladimir's car isn't there.

Gareth stops on the side, stepping out before any of them can as much as blink. He returns a few minutes later, anger radiating off of him. “No one's in there. The house is locked. The garage is empty.”

“Motherfucker!” Mickey yells, punching the seat in front of him. Nobody says anything after that, all of them thinking exactly the same. But then, Vladimir's car appears on the road in front of them, driving towards them from the opposite direction. He parks it in front of them and steps out, though he's alone when he does so. He walks up to Gareth who already stepped out, his hands curled into fists.

“Where is Lana?” he says, looking at the car but unable to see inside.

“Safe,” Vladimir mutters. “We made a deal. She stays with me until you return. I give you what you need and when you are on your way back, I return her. Simple.”

“You better be telling the truth,” Gareth spits out, walking up close to Vladimir. The man just smirks, shaking his head slowly. “Don't be rude, Gareth. I'm doing you a favour. Come with me. All of you.”

He walks to the Market, the rest following him soon after. Mickey feels weird about all this, but he's mostly worried about Lana. It's obvious that she knew about all this, but the thought that they have no idea where she is makes his skin itch.

Inside, Vladimir tells them how to get to the nearest town. He tells them where the Office is located – the place from where the Protectors operate, in case they can't get access from any of the local DAMs, but they hope it won't come to that. He also gives them clothes – ordinary stuff that will help them blend in.

“And the chips,” he says, holding out a gun-like device. Mickey's eyebrows shoot up and he hears the rest of his group reacting similarly.

“Chips?” Iggy asks, “What the fuck for?”

“New security,” Vladimir shrugs, “Everyone got them maybe two weeks ago. They could check you for them anytime.” It makes sense, Mickey thinks – it's just like what Rob told them, but he still doesn't want to have any sort of chip implanted into his arm.

“How do we get them out?” Gareth asks, inspecting the device closer. Vladimir pulls it away from his reach, scoffing.

“Why should I care? Cut them out, whatever.”

Mickey glances at Ian, seeing him flinch when Vladimir says those words. The anger bubbling in his chest multiplies, but he knows it's the only option. They have to trust Vladimir – he's their only chance.

“Do you all agree?” Gareth asks, looking at each of them and once they nod, he says, “Okay then.” He reaches out his arm and Vladimir puts the device to his forearm, pushing the button that shoots the chip inside. Gareth doesn't as much as hiss, just stares at Vladimir blankly. Once they all have the chips implanted, they pack the stuff Vladimir has given them and get into the car.

Vladimir waves them as he closes his door and Mickey feels a fresh wave of anger flow over him. Ian's hand brushes against his knee, lingering for a while and he wills himself to calm down. There's no use in wasting his energy on anger. They need to complete the mission – worry comes later. That's how it has to be.

The ride to the town doesn't take much at all, but maybe it's just the nervousness that makes time fly so fast. As they get closer and closer, the land starts looking differently – it starts with the billboards promoting Protectors, of course. It's just like in the history books – it was what prompted Mickey to leave all those years ago. The propaganda, the way people bowed to them as if they were gods.

“We're here,” Gareth mutters as they reach the first houses. There are no guards, no gates to pass, yet it feels like entering a whole new world. They leave the car in the backyard of a house that Vladimir told them about – a place where some friend of his just nods when they ask to hide the car there. After that, they feel small and exposed and vulnerable, but as they go further and further into the town and there are more people around, they find out that they blend in just fine.

Mickey feels strangely calm when walking down the streets. He wonders why all the people walk in groups, but he tries not to think about it too much – it's more than convenient for them. As they pass a pair of Protectors, they all go stiff for a while, but they walk by them without looking at them twice. It makes Mickey breathe a little more easily.

“Oh my God,” Jackson says as they walk by a group of buildings, noticing a group of  people standing in front of what has to be the Office. Jackson stops dead in his tracks and Mickey looks back at the scene, looking for the reason when –

“Don't stare,” he grits through his teeth, pulling Jackson away. The rest of them are still glued to the scene in front of them, but Gareth snaps out of it soon after, telling them to keep moving.

“What the hell is happening in here,” he whispers, all of them looking up at him with the same frightened expression. Mickey can't get the image out of his head – the people standing in groups, looking up at the three men hanging from ropes, swinging in the air like some kind of grotesque dolls. They _hung_  them.

But they can't stop and wonder about it for too long. Ian does seem shaken, but he forces his face to become expressionless. Mickey tries to copy him as they move forward, ignoring the nagging voice inside his head that tells him that that's how they'll all end up – hung in a foreign place, their friends never finding out what happened to them.

“There's one,” Iggy points at the built-in DAM in one of the walls on their right. “It's a bit too exposed though.”

“You'd never do what you need to without someone noticing. We need to find a different one,” Gareth says, looking around for an indication where to go.

They walk for a bit longer, trying to get out of the center. It's not long after that they spot another DAM afar, this time well hidden behind one of the buildings, but there's another pair of Protectors in front of them, walking towards them.

They stop in the middle of the sidewalk, unsure of what to do. The Protectors walk up to them, not saying a word. One of them raises a similar device to the one Vladimir used to get the chips implanted and he waits, eyeing them in expectation. Gareth steps closer and raises his forearm. The man scans it and when it beeps, he moves on to the rest of them. The whole thing is over quickly, but as soon as the Protectors are out of sight, Mickey feels himself starting to hyperventilate. He wills himself to calm down, knowing that they have to get this whole thing through as soon as possible, before anyone else appears.

“Iggy, Jackson, Ian,” Gareth says, “Go. We'll stay here and we'll signal to you if someone appears. Just… make it quick.”

“Be right back,” Iggy replies and the three of them hurry to the DAM. Mickey has no idea how it works and frankly, he doesn't care. He watches out for any sort of movement and he stiffens every time a civilian walks by, but no one even spares them a glance.

Not ten minutes after, Iggy, Jackson and Ian return. “We did it. Thank God we had Ian with us – he even knew the fucking codes. Let's go.” Iggy smiles shortly but the anxiety is apparent in his eyes. Gareth nods at them and they all turn around swiftly, more than happy to leave the goddamn place.

“Excuse me,” a voice says from behind them. Mickey stops, as do the rest of them, and he turns around. A woman is standing behind them, her eyes wide as she looks from side to side before stepping closer. Her hands are curled around her torso and she looks scared, terrified, even – she's the only one not in a group, too.

None of them say anything and the woman just keeps staying there, but just as Gareth is about to tell her that they're leaving, she walks up to Ian, looks at him closely and presses something into his hand. He looks at it in confusion but then his eyes snap to her, his mouth hanging open. “Is it…?” he asks and she nods shortly, stepping back. “I have to go.”

Then, she disappears in one of the alleys, leaving them standing there, confused.

“What –“ Mickey starts, but Ian shakes his head, pocketing whatever it is that the woman has given him.

“Not now,” he says, turning to Gareth. “Let's go.”

Mickey wonders what it all meant, but he doesn't ask. Not until they're safe and out of this place, he tells himself.

Much to their surprise, the rest of the mission goes almost too smoothly. They get to the car with no one bothering them, drive out of the town with no one following after them. Only when they pass the last signs of civilization, however, do they finally breathe out in relief.

“We did it!” Jackson whoops next to him and Mickey doesn't even punch him for yelling in his ear. He smiles and lets himself linger on the taste of victory.

He should have known it couldn't be that easy.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> posting on wednesday instead of thursday bcs I'll be away for a few days  
> pls comment or leave kudos, it makes me incredibly happy!!


	6. To fight when you feel like flying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And it all feels like war, even though it's not supposed to. Even though they're supposed to be ending one.

 

_“Do I dare disturb the universe?”_

 

_*_

****

“… so we basically have all the data we need, all we gotta do is plug it into one of our computers and act as if we were editing the program. We could probably re-write it or trash it completely, but it'll take some time to figure out. The best part is, that – “

“I'm sorry, Jackson,” Mickey grits out after biting his tongue for the last twenty minutes, “Could you leave it for when we're back? Please?”

“Did you just say please? As in, politely?” 

“I'll fucking murder you.”

“There he is,” Jackson grins widely, though he shuts up after that. The silence finally allows Mickey's brain to take a break, his eyes barely holding open. He has to remind himself that they still haven't passed the border and that carelessness could get them killed. He's also very much eager to find out what the hell did Ian's encounter with that woman mean, though he supposes there will be time for that later.

After another half an hour maybe, they can finally see the Market shaping in front of them. Gareth leads the car almost all the way to the entrance, hoping to get out of there as soon as possible. As soon as the engine's off, the door busts open, revealing Vladimir wearing a fake smile. Behind him, Mickey can make out Roman and Alexei, though he is sure there are more men inside whose faces he's never seen.

“Safe and sound, I see,” Vladimir says in greeting, spreading his arms wide as if he's about to hug them, the theatricality so uncommon for the man that Mickey wonders for a second whether he's been drugged.

“Not here for small talk,” Gareth replies. “Everything went according to plan. Just send for Lana and we'll be on our way.”

“Oh, don't be like that, Gareth.” His smile turns even wider, revealing his disturbingly white teeth. “You come in here, ask me for things… It's all rather unusual, don't you think? A man can only wonder… what was all that fuss for? Lana isn't very useful, not when it comes to explaining, at least,” he says, dragging the last part for way longer than necessary.

“What all the sudden interest for?” Iggy steps in, crossing his arms across his chest. All the goofiness from his face is gone – he, just like the rest of them, notices that something is off. Mickey thinks that the two of them look just like what they father always wanted them to be. Dangerous. Deadly. Not to be messed with.

“I'm a curious man,” Vladimir says, shrugging. “Now start talking. I'm trying to be polite here, but…” he glances over his shoulder and suddenly his brothers come into focus, both of them aiming their guns at the group. Mickey looks at Gareth shortly to examine his reaction and he's surprised to see that Gareth's barely holding up – he can't be scared, can he? He never is.

“We'll cooperate. Put your guns down,” Gareth says after a moment, though his words are too weak, too quiet.

“Perfect. I've been just messing around, no worries. I only want to know one thing. Are you a man of your word, Gareth?”

“You know I am.”

“Good. I believe Lana mentioned our little contract to you, then.”

Mickey feels his knuckles crack as he sees the lazy, vicious smile spread across Vladimir's face as Gareth replies, “I don't know any specifics. She only told us that she had a plan. What is this about, Vladimir?”

“She actually didn't tell you?!” Vladimir laughs out, chuckling like crazy. “No wonder you've been so calm about it. Well, I could tell you myself… Or call her here and let her do it. What do you think?”

Something about his laughter, his tone, the weird glint in his eyes just sends Mickey over the edge. He ignores the guns, the voices, all he sees is Vladimir's smug face turning into a surprised mask as Mickey throws himself at him and presses him against the wall, pushing his forearm tightly against his throat. “Listen to me, bastard,” he growls, “You've got two seconds to tell me what the fuck is going on.”

Roman and Alexei are talking to each other in Russian, aiming their guns at Mickey, but they stop when Vladimir says something back to them. He's looking at Mickey with disgust, but he's definitely not afraid.

“If I tell them to shoot, you're dead before you can even blink. But I guess this will be more fun,” Vladimir chokes out from under Mickey's grip that tightens around his throat as Vladimir continues, “Lana agreed to a business transaction. She asked me to help you out, to provide you with all you might need, pull some strings. In exchange, I asked for one thing. As a guarantee that you will fulfil your part of the agreement, Lana will stay here, as my wife.”

It's such a shock to him that Mickey actually lets go of the man. His ears are ringing and he thinks he should be reacting somehow, but everything feels so distant. He listens to Gareth's angry outburst, the others demanding that they talk to Lana personally. He doesn't know how Vladimir replies though. He then registers Gareth asking what it is that Vladimir wants.

“Oh, you're gonna love this,” Vladimir laughs again, “once you're in The Central – and it's obvious that that's where you're going – I need you to steal something for me. I want a plane, with enough fuel to last me to Europe. I don't need a pilot, all you need to worry about is the plane.”

“How the hell are we supposed to steal a plane?!” Iggy asks angrily, but Vladimir just shrugs again. “That's not my problem.”

“What if we can't do it? Or what if we don't return?” Gareth asks solemnly.

“Then I get to keep her. Don't be so broken up about it, guys. I can give her exactly what she needs.”

There it is again; the blind rage. He doesn't even register his brain sending a signal to his muscles. He just strides forward, landing the first punch, the sound of his fist colliding with Vladimir's jaw filling his ears, then he lands another, this time to the eye. He thinks he hears yelling, swearing, but he just keeps going. Vladimir probably hits him back at some point, but he doesn't care. He notices something burning, but he doesn't care.

“Stop, stop, stop.” _Stop, stop, stop_ , on and on, until he can finally focus; can see his bloodied hands, can see Vladimir's mess of a face, his body crouching on the ground. He feels someone tugging on his wrists, pulling him away. There's pain, somewhere, but he can't seem to find its source.

“Don't shoot!” Vladimir yells as there are more men coming out of the house, all of their guns pointing at Mickey and Ian who's been trying to pull him away from Vladimir.

Mickey doesn't have it in himself to be surprised yet. His eyes are focused on Lana who's now glaring daggers at him, pushing her way through the armed men as if they were kids on a playground.

“You stupid idiot!” she yells, but it's weak. She's afraid. She glances at Vladimir and helps him up. Mickey looks away.

“This should have gotten you killed,” Vladimir says as he finally stands up, leaning heavily on Lana. “Remember my good will. I will let you and your group walk away, but trust me,” he says, smiling that crooked smile even though his mouth's filling with blood. “You better bring me that plane.” To emphasize the words, he squeezes Lana even closer to himself, the look on his face filling Mickey with disgust.

“There won't be any problems, Vladimir. We're all a little on the edge right now.” Gareth's making an effort not to offend him further, but it's obvious how much the words cost him.

“Did you really agree to this?” he asks Lana, who's still glaring at Mickey.

“I did,” she says. “I make decisions for myself. Always have. I don't need your protection. This is how it has to be.”

“Lana, you don't have to…”

“I know. But I want to. This is how I help you, and you don't get a say in this. Now get the hell out of here.” Despite the harshness of her words, the way she's so obviously made up her mind, she looks at each of them kindly – Mickey hopes it's not to say goodbye.

“Enough with the chatting. Get inside,” Vladimir says, detaching himself from Lana. She glances their way one more time before turning around and walking into the house wordlessly. Mickey watches her go, once again ignorant to the situation in front of him. No more words are exchanged; and none are necessary.

“Let's go,” Gareth mutters, and the group follows him to the car. Mickey takes a step but stumbles forward, taking a hold of Ian's shoulder to prevent the fall. That's when the pain comes again, way stronger than before, and he curses loudly when he finally finds out what caused it.

“You got shot!” Ian says in disbelief, looking at his leg in horror.

“Yeah, I fucking know I got shot,” he replies, though the usual venom is lacking from his voice due to pain.

When the others see what's going on, they help him into the car. The bullet got stuck right above his knee and he's bleeding pretty badly, but it's nothing he hasn't been through before. The pain is at least something he can focus on, rather than the mess they just got away from.

He kind of wishes someone would say something. Even something cheesy, like, “It's gonna be okay. We'll work something out.” No one says anything though. They know, just like he does, that it's not gonna be okay at all.

 

*

 

Leslie may have had a bit too much to worry about these days, but she knows it's nothing in comparison to some of the things her friends are dealing with. She also knows that, in the end, it doesn't matter whose problems are worse. They all suck just the same.

Between spending her time with Ruby, helping others with the plan and doing her regular work, she spends a lot of time by the graves. It's dangerous, to be out in the open like that, but she's always careful. The moments she spends there are the only thing that helps her focus these days.

Ever since Iggy mentioned the mission to her, she's been feeling uneasy, worrying over nothing in particular, just things getting fucked up, somehow, which was more than likely. It doesn't even surprise her when they bring Mickey in, bleeding all over the floor, pale and shaken but other than that okay. It  _does_  surprise her when she finds out about Lana – the pain it causes is like a sting that just keeps getting worse with time. Then, when they explain Vladimir's terms, the details about the next mission… she thinks she's heard enough.

_Does it ever stop?_

Not so long ago, she was so determined to fight. So eager to end the misery they all live in, to help start a revolution. But losing Lana reminds her of the graves and patching Mickey up reminds her of the terrible days she spent healing soldiers and it all feels like war, even though it's not supposed to. Even though they're supposed to be ending one.

Leslie's sitting on the small rock, the sun getting lower behind her, the graves small and indistinguishable a bit on her left. Her knees are drawn tightly to her chest, a mug of tea pressed between them. Andrew's sitting next to her – has been for the last two hours or so. Neither of them said much. She's been crying, but again, she does that a lot these days. He's got tear stains on his face, too, but she doesn't mention them.

“I don't believe them.” Her voice is ruffled after being quiet for so long, and Andrew's eyes turn to her, asking her silently. “I don't believe what they say. Gareth, Mickey, Brian… That we'll win this war – because that's what it is, right? That we can end this, somehow. I don't fucking believe it.”

The words feel heavy and they taste like ash but finally, finally they feel right. They're the truth.

“Maybe we won't,” Andrew says at last. “You don't have to believe it. You don't have to keep going. You could give up, right now, a few weeks later. It's your choice.”

“You know it's not. I can't just give up.”

“Then you've already decided,” he says, “I had given up, before. I didn't believe it either. Can't say that I do now. But I'm going to keep going.”

“How?”

“You know how, Lee. One day at a time. Hell, one hour, one minute… even one second at a time, if it gets too much. And it will. None of this will be easy or pretty and we will lose more friends. We might die. We might not change a single fucking thing but I've fought damn hard for this life, I've done so much to believe that I actually deserve this… I'm not letting anyone take that away from me, Lee.”

Sure, his words can't fix this. They don't exactly help, either. But she leans into his shoulder instead of a reply. She wishes she'll be strong enough for what's to come.

For a split second, she forgets that they're there, under the hostile sun, in what feels like an empty home. She imagines leaning against her husband's shoulder, in their house in Indiana. She could barely remember his laugh, mostly because he stopped laughing entirely after he became a Protector. She would spend hours trying to understand his silence, just like she used to be familiar with his words. She would try to understand the views that got him there, to distinguish the exact moment he's started floating away from her.

She stores the memories back where they came from. That's not the man he was at the end. No matter who she fell in love with, who she had married, it was not the same man.

_I don't care_

_I love you_

_I'd forgive you_

No. No, she wouldn't. It would be easy, perhaps, to forget what he did. What he made her believe was right. But she won't, because she knows damn well that it would destroy her.

 

*

 

The whole situation was very much surreal. There was something unsettling about watching Mickey react so lethargically to getting shot, but focusing on putting pressure on the wound and stopping the bleeding helped him keep his mind occupied.

Now, sitting in Leslie's office and listening to angry discussions, to yelling and swearing and desperate ideas, Ian tries to ignore all of it. There's no use. He doesn't feel like an intruder – not like he did when Pete had died (but Lana did  _not_  die. He can't let himself think that). It's too late for that. He cares about every single one of them. Losing Lana, despite her being just a few miles away, makes him feel the same mix of emotions as the people around him. Anger. Frustration. Helplessness.

He's worried about Mickey, too. Since attacking Vladimir, he's been acting strange. He doesn't yell or argue, he barely says a word when someone talks to him directly. He looks angry, of course he does, but Ian suspects that it's a default expression, one that his face succumbs into when there's no will behind it to pull the strings.

“Water?” Ian asks quietly – the contrast between his voice and the screaming match next to them making it sound out of place.

Mickey shrugs, which is as good of a yes as he will get, so Ian hands him the water and watches him drink it in two gulps. Neither of them has mentioned any of the events at the Market yet, nor have they joined any of the countless discussions, yet it feels like it's an ongoing, unspoken conversation between them.

“Iggy.” Mickey's voice cuts the rest of them off, the surprise evident in their dumb-founded expressions. Iggy is the only one who just looks at Mickey as if he's asked him something stupid over breakfast.

“Yeah?”

“When can you and Jackson initiate? How would it even work? Use small words.”

It seems like everyone forgot about the reason they went there to begin with. It's obvious that Mickey wouldn't, though.

“We got the data on the key, all we need to do is plug it in and either edit the code or shut it down completely.”

“Won't they be able to turn it back on?”

“Not if we deny their access.”

“Good. When you do that, we will wait for a few days, maybe, for the chaos to settle in. Then we strike.”

Ian listens to the conversation, but his mind is somewhere else. He knows he's missing something, something just out of his grasp. What is it that he wanted to talk to them about?

“… bullshit, Gareth, we need to do this as soon as possible, you know that!” Mickey hisses through his teeth, oblivious to the fact that his words make it click for Ian.

“No,” he says, “No, we have to wait. What date is it? Does anyone know?”

“Wait?! What the fuck for?”

“Gareth? Anyone?” Ian asks hopefully, but it's Jackson that answers, “It's the 18th of May. Why?”

“We'll do it on the 5th of June. It's the date the second attack began. They'll be making big speeches about how necessary it is to follow the rules so that no more attacks happen… It's the perfect timing. Sure, many people will be near us, but The Central itself should be empty.”

It's a good plan, Ian knows it is. He knows that's what the message he's been clutching in his pocket will say, too.

“We can't wait for over two weeks,” Mickey says in disbelief, “Not when Lana is out there.”

“You can't walk, Mickey,” Ian says in reply, and Mickey actually seems surprised. He glances at his leg and curses loudly, but it's the obvious truth.

“It's not a bad idea,” Gareth remarks, but he, too, doesn't seem too pleased with the idea of waiting. Ian looks at him patiently, hoping that he'd see that it's their only chance.

“It's too long.”

“Not if we want to make it. We need to be prepared for all possible outcomes.” He sees the agreement in Gareth's face even before he says it, but Mickey still seems unconvinced. Either way, it's not only up to them to decide. They need to discuss the issue with everyone, but there will be time for that.

The others leave eventually, when Leslie returns to check up on Mickey, but Ian doesn't really feel like it. He asks her about Andrew, how he's holding up, but her face says it all.

Mickey keeps quiet the whole time but it's not the strange, unusual silence anymore. He seems defeated, tired. Not ready to give up, though. Ian isn't sure he could if, even if he wanted to.

“What'd she give to you? The woman?”

It's been a few hours since everyone left and Ian had almost forgotten about it. Now, though, he isn't sure he should share it with Mickey. He doesn't know what to think about it himself, anyway.

“Cat got your tongue?”

“Sorry,” he mutters, deciding that keeping secrets isn't worth it. Why bother? “It's a note, kind of. I haven't read it yet, but I know who it's from.”

He pulls out the small circular object; a messenger. They kept using them when he was with the Protectors. You need a password to access the message, if your guess is wrong, it self-destructs. 

Mickey is looking at it sceptically, but he knows what it is. Everyone does. It's not like they're very common, but anyone can use them if they get their hands on them.

“Who sent it? How did they know you'd be there?”

That's the tricky part. “I have no idea how they found out. It's from an old friend of mine. He – Isaac – is a part of the Resistance. Those are the people I've told you about. The soldiers fighting against the Protectors from within.” He wishes he could add something to assure Mickey. Something like, I trust Isaac. We can all trust him. But it would be a lie, because where has it ever gotten him to trust people not from under these roofs?

“Could it be a trap?” Mickey asks, still eyeing the messenger with distrust. Ian's thought about that, too, but he doesn't think so.

“Anything could,” he replies, shrugging. “I haven't played it yet.”

“Well then what are you waiting for?”

Ian activates it by simply pressing the button on top, waiting for the image to appear. When it does, it's just a single word: PASSWORD.

“14/05/11/12/DK,” he says, holding his breath as he waits. It's a series of dates and initials of his sister. He knows for sure that Isaac would choose this password, but there's still the weight of expectation, a hint of uncertainty. The word disappears and a soft, blue light takes over, causing him to breathe out in relief. Then, Isaac's face appears. He doesn't say anything for a while and Ian uses the time to take him in. He's different, more than he'd expect him to be after merely a few months.

“Hey, Ian. I hope this gets to you. You're a tough motherfucker to find,” he laughs, his voice changed and static but his nonetheless. Ian's lips almost form into a smile, but then Isaac goes on, his eyes turning serious and much, much older than Ian remembers.

“I bet you know what's happening by now. All this shit… it makes me sick. No wonder you left. I definitely don't blame you, though I wish you would have said something. Anything. They sent Jess and Adam to find you, did you know? They would have made them kill you if they found you. Adam's been looking after the kids, too. They're safe, but you need to get them out of here. But yeah, that's not why I'm sending you this. I don't know where you are, but I know you're with the rebels. I know you guys are going to do something. I don't know what yet, but we are tired of doing nothing. And we want to help. You know where to find us. Even if I don't see you again, just wanna let you know that I miss you, and that we're still on the same side.” Isaac doesn't say goodbye, just ends the message with a ghost of a smile. Ian feels torn – mostly because he's been working so hard to suppress the memories of his time with the Protectors. Had he erased the good memories, too? Should he feel guilty for that?

“You trust him?” Mickey asks, seeing the conflict in Ian's eyes.

“I trust Isaac,” he says at last, “but I can't guarantee he's telling the truth. It could be a trap.”

“But you trust him.”

“Yeah.”

Mickey nods, leaning back against the headboard. “That's enough for me. But you should show the others. Let everyone decide.”

“There's time,” Ian says, putting the messenger back into his pocket. Maybe it should have shocked him more, but it's like his mind is out of fuel. Like even a natural disaster couldn't make him care enough.

“You can sleep here,” Mickey says after a while, his eyes closed already. “If you want to, or something.”

“Yeah,” Ian mutters, lying down next to him.

_I don't want to be alone, either._

 

*

 

Just two days after the mission, Mickey insisted that Leslie releases him and lets him stay in his room. Leslie agreed after a few hours of complaining, but she wasn't happy about it. Not that Ian is, but he doesn't really have a say in the matter. Since Mickey can't really move around a lot, Ian hasn't left his side since. For convenience, mostly, but after going through all that, he wants to keep an eye on Mickey, like he has done for him before.

At first, he thought Mickey would snap after a while, tell him he was being clingy or patronising or whatever, but he never did. Ian tries not to fuss over him or anything, it's not like he could die from getting shot in the leg… Yet, whenever someone as much as suggests that he takes a moment for himself, he glares at them until they shut up or leave. The only people he can stand these days are Mickey, Leslie and Andrew. No surprise there.

Mickey, as angry at himself as he is for getting shot in the first place, doesn't complain much about having to spend time with Ian. Ian knows he's still a bit out of it because of Lana – they all are, really – but he's back to frustration and anger, which, in Mickey's case, is an improvement.

“You're shit at card games,” Mickey announces after having won yet another round. Ian glares at him but knows that the statement is utterly and absolutely true.

“I won two,” he replies, making a face when Mickey laughs at that. Two out of seventy-something, but hey, he's trying.  “Another?”

“Nah, I'm all stiff from sitting around here. I just wanna take a goddamn walk.”

“It's barely been a week. Give it time.”

“Easy for you to say,” Mickey scoffs, but then guilt flashes across his face and he apologizes.

“What for?” Ian asks, confused.

“I totally forgot, you know. The state you were in when they found you. I'll stop bitching about it.”

“I don't mind it,” Ian says, “it's kind of entertaining. You have a cute pout going on sometimes.”

“Fuck you.”

Ian smiles to himself, enjoying the way Mickey is suppressing a grin of his own.

The silence stretches between them then, stiff and restricting. It's been like that since the mission. It's like none of the quiets feel right anymore. Words do, sometimes. People still laugh about things they used to laugh about and life goes on down here like it always did, but when the talking stops and the laughter dies out, it seems like the silence is trapping them – inside these walls, inside themselves. It's like a reminder that their lives  _have_  changed.

In a way, Ian and Mickey talk awfully little to each other. Ian uses words to talk to Andrew, finding it so easy to slip into conversation with him, to find an understanding. Andrew is always there when Ian barely understands himself, when he feels like everything's going to crush him and he doesn't know how to stop it. And he feels like a terrible friend sometimes because he doesn't know how to do that for Andrew, how to help him, but when he mentioned it to Andrew, he said that he doesn't need Ian to save him. He said that he wasn't doing that for Ian, either. He said that each of them has to decide whether to fight or not, and it's the kind of decision you have to keep on making, every day, every hour.

To understand all that, the words were necessary, but it's nothing like that with Mickey. Their words don't mean much. They're harsh truths and pointless rants and sometimes they're anything but comforting. The real conversations are the ones they don't need words for.

Mickey is a steady presence, someone who radiates comfort even when he himself feels like crashing. He knows when to touch and how to do it, he knows when to stay away and whether staying away means leaving him alone, too. He understands the silences and the looks and Ian wonders, how is any of that possible? How, when there were never any words spoken? Perhaps, putting their conversations into words would be insulting to their meaning. Perhaps, a brush of knuckles against his own and a soft smile and a look filled with pain and anger but with brightness, too, could mean much more than any spoken words ever could.

Which is why Ian notices that there's something else going on with Mickey, too. He gets angry sometimes, for no apparent reason, and he never explains it to Ian when he asks about it. He doesn't sleep much, either. It's not even the nightmares, just sleeplessly staring into the wall, avoiding Ian's eyes when he comes up with excuses.

Ian doesn't like it, but he knows the only way is to wait for Mickey to talk. It's likely that he won't, like he wouldn't tell him about his nightmares. It's likely, but Ian hopes he will, eventually.

After a few days of this, Ian's certain that it's a family thing. Iggy and Mandy have both snapped at someone multiple times for little to no reason and the people didn't even care, just walked away as if it was a casual occurrence.

“Can you tell me what's wrong?” he asks out of the blue after watching Mickey zone in and out multiple times while telling him some sort of story that neither of them has been paying attention to. He's only asked once before, knowing that pushing the issue would be stupid, but he doesn't think he can go on like that anymore.

“Nothing,” Mickey replies, not even looking up at him.

“Fuck that.”

“Can you just let it go?” Mickey spits out angrily, this time at least not denying it. “Just leave it.”

“I won't,” Ian says, frowning. “You wouldn't have ignored it if I was hiding something. I'm not like that, either, Mick. I'm not morbidly curious or fake concerned, I just care. So spill it out.”

“It's not so fucking easy, okay?”

“I know it's not,” he scoffs, but his voice is gentler. “Look, just… It's making me go crazy, the way you won't sleep and how you always avoid my eyes and how you never sound honest when I ask you about something. I want to know what's making you feel like this.”

“Ian…” Mickey sighs out, rubbing his eyes, “it's not that I don't wanna tell you, okay? It's not. But there's so much shit going on right now and there are other things that should fucking keep me up at night, and yet I can't get  _this_  out of my head.”

“You can't always worry about everything, Mick. You're not alone in this.”

“Yeah, I know,” he says, glancing at him briefly. He's quiet for a moment, studying his hands and Ian thinks they're done with talking for today, but then he says, “It's my dad. His birthday's coming up. That's why Mandy and Iggy are both… Well. Like this,” he says, motioning to himself. “It's not a big deal, really, just a shitty date, but I hate how much it fucking affects me. He could be fucking dead for all I know,” he laughs out bitterly, shaking his head.

“I take it he's not a nice person,” Ian tries warily, afraid to set Mickey off again now that he's finally told him something.

“Bingo.”

“Why his birthday?”

Mickey frowns, shrugging. “Just reminds me of him most. All of us.”

“So that's why,” Ian says, tilting his head. Mickey lifts an eyebrow, waiting. “That's why what?”

“That's why we're so screwed up. Shitty parents and all that.”

He didn't even expect it, but when Mickey laughs, it sounds genuine. Ian can't help it but smile.

And when the day does come up, Ian doesn't have to ask why Mickey smashes a glass across a room. He trashes the shreds and when Leslie leaves, he brings breakfast. Mickey doesn't talk, hasn't since morning, but he eats his eggs and sips from Ian's coffee and the silence isn't a bad one, either.

“Something you wanna do today?” Ian asks then, knowing that now that Mickey can walk, he uses every opportunity to do so. He doesn't think he will today, but asking feels better than lying around all day in silence, waiting for Mickey to snap or have a breakdown or ignore him completely, all the while not being able to read him and tell if he's okay.

“Fuck until dawn,” Mickey replies casually, barely looking up. Ian opens his mouth but closes it again, unsure whether he's serious and if so, why the fuck? “Don't look at me like that,” Mickey scoffs, rolling his eyes. “First, having my mind blown by sex is better than having to think about any of the shit I'm currently thinking about. Second, it's the douchebag's birthday today. What other way to send him a massive fuck you than to get fucked by a hot guy on his sacred day? And okay, third, I fucking miss having you close. Stop smiling,” he mutters, though his own lips are curved into a small smile.

“Okay,” Ian replies, but he keeps on grinning. As always, they don't need any more words. So the world is shit right now, big fucking news. Every second he does  _not_  spend kissing Mickey is turning it even worse.

 

*

 

“Hey, little bro! Ready to party?”

Before Mickey can even register what's happening, his siblings are bursting into his room, both of them carrying an armful of booze – how the hell did they get that? – and wearing identical grins on their way-too-similar faces.

“It's too fucking late for this shit,” he mutters, groaning when he has to sit up. Only then does he realize that he's still not wearing clothes and that there's still a certain someone sprawled across his bed, snoring quietly.

“Uh,” Iggy says, turning around. “We'll burst in dramatically again in two minutes once you've got some clothes on. Look surprised!” He drags Mandy out with him and when they close the door, Mickey sighs dramatically, shaking Ian awake.

“Wha – “

“Mandy and Iggy are going to smash the door in like a minute. Put some clothes on, will you?”

“Huh?”

“Very elaborate.” Mickey rolls his eyes and reaches for the pile of clothes on the ground, pulling some on and handing the rest to Ian who's still got puffy eyes and that dumb face he gets just after he wakes up.

As promised, the two idiots repeat the whole process and Mickey has to bite his tongue not to tell them to fuck off. But then again, they've got booze. Who is he to turn that down?

“Should I, um. Should I leave?” Ian asks when Iggy and Mandy invite themselves onto the already too small bed.

“Why?” Iggy asks at the same time as both Mickey and Mandy say, “No.” Ian smirks but says nothing, leaning back against the wall.

“Two questions,” Mickey says, catching his siblings' attention, “where did you get the booze and why are we getting drunk  _in my room_?”

“Karen,” Mandy says in explanation, which in itself is enough. “And we tried Ian's first.”

He glares at her and then at Ian who chuckled at her remark. Traitor.

“Okay, okay, enough of that. I'm either getting drunk tonight or kicking somebody's ass,” Iggy announces, popping one of the bottles open. “You tell him?” he asks Mickey before making a toast. He nods, shrugging, though sharing even a little bit of it all with Ian didn't feel like a small thing at all. It surprised him when it felt good, though he wouldn't describe it as a relief. It was just kind of liberating to know that someone else in the room who hasn't been through any of it knows, and doesn't judge him, doesn't feel the need to constantly ask him about it.

“To the world's biggest asshole of a father.” Iggy's toast makes Mickey smile, and Mandy whoops loudly. They all take a swing, finishing the bottle in just a few rounds. They don't talk about Terry and after a few days of having him constantly on his mind, Mickey doesn't think about him, either. They drink and drink and when the world starts spinning, it makes much more sense to Mickey than it usually does. He doesn't feel guilty about laughing and he doesn't feel weird about holding Ian's hand in front of his siblings.

“I might actually tell her,” Iggy says solemnly, having gone through the giggly stage of drunkenness and ending up in the sentimental one.

“Why don't you?” Ian asks, his voice sending vibrations to Mickey's skin. Ian's still leaning against that wall and since Mandy's legs are taking up most of the space, Mickey had absolutely no other choice but to lay his head on Ian's chest.

“She means too much,” Iggy shrugs, sighing. “If I say something and she doesn't feel the same, she'll probably be all nice, like always, but it might make her feel weird. Like, she might pity me or something. I don't want her to feel that. I want us to be just as great friends as we are now.”

“Leslie wouldn't pity you,” Ian says again.

“Yeah, I guess she wouldn't. I'm afraid I'll ruin what we have, though.”

“You need to take a risk sometimes. Even if you don't know whether it'll work out, it's better than forever wondering what would have happened if you  _did_  make a move.”

Mickey hides his smile behind the bottle, wondering whether that's what led Ian to ask him to kiss him.

“Pass it on, douchebag,” Mandy says and kicks his arm lightly. He groans but hands the bottle over, sticking his tongue out at her.

“Mature,” she mutters, her words already blurring together slightly. He catches her eye and despite the haziness and the way his mouth forms words too slowly, the two clearly share the same thoughts as they are looking at each other. If Terry and all the things he represents – their childhood, the dump they grew up in, the hate and constant fear that they'd never, ever get out – if they had to choose between then and now, neither of them would go back. Not even if it meant the world not going crazy. Not even if they could prevent all that pain, the misery, the death of loved ones. They just couldn't. It's a decision that either of them would make without giving it a second thought.

“… but like, with red hoods or something intimidating. I like the idea of black, but it's so…”

“Boring, yeah,” Ian hums in agreement after Iggy seemingly can't find the right word. Iggy's eyes light up and he says, “You're reading my mind, dude! It's  _boring!_ ”

“What are you two idiots talking about?” Mandy says in confusion, glancing at Mickey who really has no idea.

“Iggy's coming up with costume ideas,” Ian responds in a theatrical whisper, topping it with a  _hush_  gesture. Mickey snorts before he loses his mind completely and kisses that dork.

“What the fuck for?”

“We  _need_  them,” Iggy whines with a pleading expression. “If the Protectors can have cool uniforms, why can't we? Think about it.”

“I am. It's the worst idea you've ever had, Iggy, and that's saying something.”

“Worse than microwaving Jeffrey the fish because he wanted seafood?” Mandy asks with a giggle.

“We're not supposed to talk about that!” Iggy says, suddenly upset.

“Yeah, Mands, it's worse. How could you help him with that?” he asks, turning his face upwards so that he's looking at Ian. “Your face's all funny.”

“I'm not the one almost breaking his neck instead of pulling away like a normal person,” Ian says with a grin. “And it's not such a bad idea.”

“Seriously?!” Both Mandy and Mickey say in unison.

“Honestly, what is it with you two?” Ian asks, “You're like twins or something.”

That's when Mandy bursts into a fit of laughter, snorting and choking while Mickey tries to hold the laughter in, unsuccessfully.

“Dude,” Iggy blurts out when he, too, stops laughing. “They  _are_  twins. This is hilarious.”

“You're what? Like, for real?”

“No, we're lying,” Mickey says, rolling his eyes. “Did I never tell you?”

“No? You were never like, hey Ian, wanna know something? I got a twin! And hey, it's actually Mandy!”

“Well sorry,” he rolls his eyes again, as if it was their natural state.

“I feel betrayed,” Ian sighs dramatically, actually pushing Mickey away. “Don't thou touch me with thy treasonous hands.”

Mickey isn't sure whether he should scoff, pout or once again roll his eyeballs backwards, but he settles on landing a punch to Ian's chest and yet again leaning his head there. Ian doesn't push him away this time.

It's hours and hours later when his siblings take off, but even though he's complaining and he won't shut up about the hangover he'll have in the morning, he's really grateful that they came up with this plan. That evening means something to all of them, despite how much they wish they could just erase it. By spending it together, they can reclaim it as theirs.

Before they leave, Iggy pulls him into a hug. It's not the half-assed, fake-ass man hug that he sometimes does with his friends. It's a genuine, long and too fucking sappy hug, but Mickey wouldn't have it any other way. He hugs Mandy just as tight before kicking them out the door.

“I'm so drunk…” Ian groans from the bed and Mickey chuckles, throwing himself onto the bed and only realizing his mistake too late.

He curses loudly when a jolt of pain shoots into his whole leg from the bullet wound. Ian is up in a second, his ruffled hair standing in all directions combined with his drunkenly concerned face looking more comical than anything.

“Mick? You alright?”

“Hmph.” He turns on his back and winces again, but the pain is slowly retreating. “I'm fine. Let's sleep.”

“What happened to fucking until dawn?”

“You can go fuck yourself,” he mumbles as he turns back on his side, sliding his arm around Ian's waist and pulling himself closer, not-so-subtly breathing in Ian's scent.

“Night,” Ian whispers on the edge of sleep, his breathing already evening out.

“Good night.” Mickey fights the sleepiness for a little longer, making sure that Ian is asleep. Then, he pulls away slightly and looks at his calm face, realizing just how much they needed this. Ian hasn't looked that calm in a long time, if ever. Mickey thinks his face must look similar right now.

He kisses Ian lightly, barely touching his lips, remembering the first time he did it. Ian's eyes were closed then, too, but he was scared and hurt and alone.

The fear, the hurt, that is probably still there, and it's not entirely a bad thing. But he's not alone anymore. And he never will be.

 

*

 

“And when will they go? I miss good food,” Ruby exclaims loudly, scrunching her nose over the canned fruit and cookies that Leslie brought her.

“I know, sweetie. Everyone's been pretty busy lately, but I'm sure a food haul is the next thing on their schedule.” She ruffles her curls a bit, thinking that Ruby could definitely use a haircut. So could she, to be honest, but she's thinking about growing it longer this time. She hasn't had long hair since before she got married and it would be a nice change, for once.

“You know what? I'll make your favourite as soon as the food's here. How's that?”

Ruby nods eagerly, though she turns serious again, catching her bottom lip with her teeth. “Leslie?”

“Yes, honey?”

“Why has Gareth been working so much? He's not visiting me that much anymore,” she says sadly, and Leslie's frown deepens.

“I'm sure it's just temporary, until they sort things out. Do you want me to talk to him?”

“Please?”

“Of course. Now finish your breakfast, okay? Go to the main hall then, you can help Andrew with lunch. You know how he is when it comes to cooking.”

Leslie kisses the top of her head and stands up, smiling at the little girl before walking out the door.

When she gets to her office, she is a bit startled to find three people waiting there for her. She realizes quickly that none of them are injured, which slows her heart beat enough for her to breathe out.

“Are you waiting for me?” she asks, which causes the three to hiss in reply. Iggy, Mandy and Ian are all leaning against the wall heavily, their pale faces showing similar levels of pain as she laughs at their state. “Are you hungover? Really?”

“Please, don't yell,” Mandy sighs out, rubbing her forehead. “Got any painkillers? Anything? I'll do anything, Leslie, even organize your files or rub your feet every night. Please?”

“No need for that,” she laughs, motioning for them to follow her. “Here,” she says, handing each of them a bottle of water and two pills.

“Can you give me two more?” Ian asks, looking at the pills. “Mickey refused to walk here. Suddenly he's all injured and in pain and whiney.”

Amused, she chuckles and hands Ian the pills, adding another bottle of water on top. “Tell him I'll stop by later for the check-up. Did he say how he's feeling?”

“He gets dizzy in the mornings, but it could be from the lack of sleep. Um, his leg starts shaking if he stands on it for longer than a few minutes, but he says it helps to take short walks. The wound is healing nicely, no infection or anything, but his skin is all reddened above it and despite what he's saying, you should give him some painkillers. Oh, and he totally ignores your advice about putting the leg above his head when he's lying.”

“How do you have all these words, this soon? My head hurts from even listening to that, man,” Iggy whines as he finishes the bottle, shaking his head at Ian.

Leslie is impressed, to say the least, but all she says is thank you. After the three poor souls leave her office, she starts cleaning up a bit, then just mindlessly doodles around in her notebook until she hears a sound. It was a loud thud, followed by a series of swears that just keeps coming closer and closer. Sighing, she puts the notebook away, hoping that it won't be anything serious.

A few minutes later, Gareth storms into the room, but he stumbles upon something and almost sprawls across her floor. He's pressing a cloth to his nose which is pretty busted, the blood dripping down his mouth and chin and into his beard.

“Jesus, Gareth,” she exclaims, rushing to him. “Who did this? Come, sit.” She drags him towards her desk and sits him down on her stool, pushing the cloth away to inspect the damage. “That's pretty nasty. Not broken though. Who hit you?”

“Brian,” he huffs out, hissing in pain as she wipes the blood from under his nose. Her eyebrows raise in surprise. The brothers have never fought, not physically at least.

“What happened?”

He doesn't reply, which she supposes is fair since it's probably none of her business.

After she's done with his nose, Gareth stops her by grabbing her wrist gently, looking up at her, his face unreadable as always. “He won't tell anyone, I suppose, but even if, it's better if I tell you myself. I… I've been taking again.”

It takes her a moment to sink in, but when it does, her first reaction is disbelief.

“What? But how, I mean…”

“Doesn't matter,” he says, rolling up his sleeve and exposing a series of fresh, bruised puncture wounds. Leslie just keeps staring at them, then back at Gareth who's scowling deeply, not taking his eyes off the wall. He rolls his sleeve back down and sighs, shaking his head. “I have nothing to say about it. I didn't think I'd start again. I thought I had it under control. But you can't cure yourself of this,” he says, turning his eyes to her. The look in them is desperate, pleading even, but he shuts them close quickly, taking a shuddering breath before standing up abruptly.

“Thanks for the nose, Leslie.” Without another word, he leaves.

“Oh my God,” she says once he's gone, washing the blood off her hands and staring at herself in the small, round mirror. She doesn't understand. How could they not notice? How could he get his hands on it? Why would he start again? What's the point?

But, rationally, she knows that there's never a good enough reason. She's dealt with addicts before, she's seen many of them fall and crash and burn after having been okay for a long time. She just never considered the option with Gareth. The fact that he had once been a heroin addict was just a piece of information that she had stored in her brain, never to think about it again. But one never really  _stops_  being an addict. That much she knows.

She blinks at her reflection a few more times before turning the water off and leaving. She's headed for the one place that has become a sanctuary for her.

Perhaps it's not wise or healthy to sit with the dead. To contemplate your thoughts with your memories of them. To seek the truth in the ghosts of their faces.

But the dead… They won't judge you. You can bare your soul to them, you can stand by them naked and vulnerable and you don't have to be afraid. They'll listen. And they won't leave.

Carefully, she goes through each of the things occupying her mind. She sorts through them one by one, knowing that she can't deal with them right now, but hoping that locking them away could make the constant swirling in her mind stop.

Leslie thinks about Gareth and Ruby and Brian, thinks about all the signs she should have looked out for. She tries to convince herself that she is not to blame here, none of them are.

She thinks about Lana and everyone here suffering because of what happened. She tries to imagine her, content and, if not happy, then not suffering, at least.

She thinks about Iggy and how broken he was yesterday when he came to her. She thinks of his tired yet happy face this morning and smiles through the tears.

She thinks about Andrew and she wishes he would realize that he doesn't have to be strong all the time. That there are people ready to catch him if he falls.

She thinks about Mickey and Gina and Cat and Walt, those stubborn, stubborn kids that had been forced to grow up way too soon.

She thinks about Ian and the quiet, persistent strength, the way he cares about them all more than he should. She hopes that they'll get his family back, one day.

She thinks about Karen and Jackson who seem like they don't even care what's happening, but who she knows would fight every single person who would dare hurt any of their friends.

She thinks about her listeners, the lost friends, and she wishes things had gone differently.

Lastly, she thinks about herself. She thinks about the girl who was raised to believe that the world was a kind, magical place, who was raised to believe that one day, she will find happiness. The girl who fell in love and found a home and forgot about what mattered. Who blindly followed ideas that weren't her own. Who didn't say anything even when she realized that  _people are getting hurt. Because of us. Because of what we're doing._

“I'm sorry,” she whispers, the images of her and her husband flashing through her brain, followed by images of people begging her to kill them, people who had never agreed to any of it, people who had trusted her to help them. People whom she had betrayed. Whom she had, though indirectly, helped kill.

Leslie could still see their faces. She doesn't have to look for them. They always find her.

 _But that's not me anymore_ , she thinks, hopes, because she has to. The belief that she's changed is the only reason she lets herself stay. She had made a promise to herself, to this world, to make it up to them by doing as much as she possibly can. By becoming the version of herself that she so desperately wishes to be.

 

 


	7. I swear I heard demons yelling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So even if he can't make it better, he's determined to show Ian that he's not alone. That Mickey will always be within arm's reach, and that he'll always come back even if Ian sends him away. That despite this shitty world they're stuck in and someone else's battles that they're not supposed to be fighting, he doesn't regret any of it.

 

_“No one taught me how to pray, so I won't.”_

****

**_*_ **

****

The worst part is that he knows it's not real.

He knows that he's sleeping and that the whole thing is just his fucked up brain torturing him with twisted memories. Even if some of them are painfully real.

He knows that, and yet when he gasps for his breath or opens his mouth to scream, instead of waking up, he could taste metal on his tongue, could smell ashes and rotten breath and cheap booze. He could see her blood mixed with his and he knows that no matter how many times he calls her name, she won't wake up.

It's over in a blast. His eyes snap open and he draws in breath after breath, gritting his teeth together to hold back the pleading and the screaming that belong to the dreams.

As he blinks desperately in the darkness, he feels the air shift by his side. Ian doesn't say a word, just brushes his hand against Mickey's shoulder and when he leans into it, he pulls him close, closes his arms around him and though it should feel like a cage, it feels like safety.

Several minutes pass and he knows he won't fall asleep again. Ian is still awake, too, his breathing way too shallow for him to be sleeping. Mickey feels guilty for a split second, but he brushes it off. “Thanks,” he murmurs and Ian squeezes him a little tighter. “I think I need a walk,” he adds after a while.

“Want me to go with?”

“Yeah. If you want to.”

Instead of a reply, Ian follows him up from the bed and out the door, through the corridors that are deadly quiet except for the sound of their steps. Mickey can't get his muscles to relax and it makes walking that much more difficult, but he tries not to get frustrated with himself. Ian keeps up with his slow pace, wordlessly following Mickey up to the warehouse.

When they get there, he leads Ian to the car and opens the trapdoor, feeling a flash of guilt over sharing the place that had always belonged to him and Gina, but he's also sure that she wouldn't mind one bit. He needs to see the sky right now.

“Is this another secret place?” Ian asks once they reach the roof, looking around with a ghost of a smile.

“Something like that. Come here.” He walks up to the place where they had left a few blankets the last time, sitting down and leaning against the small brick wall in the middle. Ian's by his side in seconds, letting out a sigh when he spots the night sky above them. The sight never gets old.

“Can we even be here?”

“Probably not,” he shrugs, watching the clouds move in front of the crescent moon. “Gina and I used to come here a lot. Haven't done that in a while now. We'd just lie here when neither of us could sleep and talk about stars.”

“That why you got upset when I mentioned them? The stars?” Ian asks, biting his lip as he keeps looking up at the sky. His face is glowing, illuminated by the moon's light – Mickey looks away when he imagines it covered in blood, the red standing out against his pale skin, just like it did against Mickey's hands.

“It was too personal then, I guess. I don't even know why. It's just the way I get when I look at the sky and it's empty. Doesn't feel right.”

Ian nods beside him, turning his head towards Mickey so that he's facing him. It feels like an invitation, a silent question which he doesn't have to answer.

“It's the nightmares. You get them, too, right? I mean, which one of us doesn't?” Mickey swallows audibly, glancing at Ian shortly to see a glimpse of understanding. “But it's different with me. It's just like with my dad's birthday. I get nightmares for the wrong fucking reasons. Not the shit I should be afraid of, but my screwed up memories that I can't change no matter how many times I have to relive them. It makes no fucking sense.”

“Doesn't have to,” Ian says, “You don't have to keep looking for reasons. There probably aren't any, anyway.”

“Probably,” he admits, pushing the frustration deeper inside. “It used to be different. I'd dream about finding Mandy or Iggy dead, or about it being my fault, somehow. That's to be expected, when you've got loved ones in a place like this, and though it wasn't fucking easy, at least it made some sense.”

“What changed?”

“Lately it's been memories. One more often than others.” He closes his eyes instinctively when an image flashes in his mind. Ian doesn't prompt him to go on and Mickey thinks about whether he should. Could it make it easier, somehow, to share it with someone? He's not sure he believes that. “Many of them are from when I was a kid,” he says at last. “I'd either say something I shouldn't have or do something weird, like hug my dad in the morning. He'd get real angry, start yelling. Breaking stuff. I dropped a beer bottle that I was supposed to bring him once when I was six. He made me pick up the shreds and squeeze them until blood started dripping onto the floor and he said it was enough. He then broke my wrist, so that I'd learn not to drop shit. That was the first time he actually did something like that, other than yelling.”

He doesn't look at Ian. He can't. He'd never forget the look of pity on his face and he doesn't want to have an image of Ian like that in his mind.

“Shit got worse as I got older. Dad would often hit us kids, but it was nothing in comparison to what he would do to mom. Most of it was psychological abuse. He'd make her believe that she was worth nothing, that she deserved what she got. Whenever he drank himself into oblivion, she would get high on whatever she could find. No matter how much he'd beat her, she'd just keep staring at the wall, letting him do it. And she'd keep laying there when he started hitting us. As if she weren't there.” Mickey can see it, brighter than any of his happy memories.

“When I dream about it, it never stops. I can't get him to stop hurting us, no matter how much I shout. The worst one, though, is the one where I find my mom's corpse. I was twelve. Just got home from school, dad's sitting in front of the TV as if nothing had happened. I go to the kitchen and she's lying there, her face all bruised and bloody, stab wounds all over her torso. In the nightmare, I always try to wake her up. Get her blood all over me but it's pointless. Then dad comes in and yells at me for making a mess, then gets all surprised as if he had forgotten what he's done. He smashes a bottle against my face and cuts me open. But when it really happened, I just stood there. I didn't do anything and when dad got rid of the body, we never mentioned it. In a way, I'm glad for the dreams because the reality is so much worse.”

After a few seconds of silence, still not having looked at Ian at all, he adds, “Let's not talk about it anymore, okay?” he turns on his side and lays his head onto the spot between Ian's shoulder and his chest, resting his hand on his waist. Ian keeps quiet, though he hugs him closer. Mickey can hear his heart beating fast, can feel his shallow breaths and the way his body lays stiff and tense.

He can feel Ian dragging his hand up and down his spine, his fingers just barely brushing against his shirt.

“Tell me about something,” Mickey says after a few minutes, eager to take their minds off all that mess.

“Like what?” Ian makes an effort to sound casual, but his voice is harsh, angry even.

“Anything.”

Ian's chest rises as he breathes in deeply. His hand stops halfway through the motion, but he resumes it as he says, “Iggy reminds me of my brother, Carl, sometimes. He's kind of a genius, too.”

“You've got a brother?” Mickey asks, surprised.

“Three brothers. And two… one sister, Debs. Lip's my oldest brother, Debbie, Carl and Liam are younger. I haven't seen them since I left for the army, they took them away from Fiona shortly after. I don't know where they are but I hope they're safe, somewhere. As safe as they can be.”

“Tell me about them.”

Mickey can't see his face, but he thinks that Ian might have smiled. “Well, they're all loud. We've always been the huge, loud, obnoxious kind of family that argues over every meal, but I wouldn't have it any other way. At least we'd always stick together when things got tough.”

They end up exchanging stories – happy ones, this time. Despite the horrors of his childhood, Mickey does have some pretty awesome memories. He tells Ian all about them and he gets to listen to parts of Ian's life he had no idea about.

It's just another sleepless night, but in a way, he feels more relaxed than ever. Ian keeps his word and doesn't mention what Mickey had shared with him, but when Mickey wakes up from a nightmare the next time, he's there to remind him that he's not living that life anymore.

 

*

 

With merely a week left until the upcoming mission – one that could either be the beginning of a new era or that could end up being a huge fucking disaster – it's getting harder and harder for everyone to focus. They go over the plan every chance they get, step by step, each of them memorizing it well enough to be able to recite it from their sleep.

Gareth's absence during the planning is obvious, but most of the time, they try to avoid the subject altogether. After the fiasco with Brian, Gareth really doesn't need everyone discussing his personal life. Though Mickey would argue that privacy is something you give up forever in a place like this.

“We're doing this?” Jackson asks for the twentieth time, his eyes wide and bloodshot after staring at the computer screen for days in a row.

“We are,” Brian confirms. “Is everything ready? Are you sure that it will work exactly as we want it to?”

“I'm sure, boss.” Jackson glances at Iggy and the two seem to have a wordless conversation going on until Cat snaps into it.

“How do we know if it works?”

“Vladimir, I guess? He's supposed to help us with everything.”

At the mention of his name, Mickey could feel his blood boil, but he makes himself ignore it. What a waste of energy.

“So, what, you just turn it off? People won't know what to do, no work will get done, then what? Won't Protectors just send their soldiers there to take control?”

“They might,” Brian steps in, “but they're not prepared for that. It'll take some time to figure out, plus it's likely that people will try to rebel against them, once it's not just machines but actual people. It'll definitely point their attention elsewhere.”

“Not to be rude or anything,” Jackson laughs nervously, “but maybe you should have had this conversation earlier. It's not exactly reassuring. I'd appreciate if you could shut the hell up while I do this.” He takes a deep breath and starts murmuring something, checking all the changes he's made in the original program and either nodding or shaking his head at the questions Iggy throws at him. Jackson is definitely the more skilled one when it comes to computers, but he gets forgetful when he's nervous. Mickey realizes that Iggy is walking him through it step by step, as subtly as possible, without obviously patronising him or trying to look like he's the better one out of the two.

“It's done,” he says after a few minutes, a small smile spreading across his face as he and Iggy lock eyes. “I've checked it twice, it's all good and running. The DAMs will act as if they've been just installed, with no data available. It'd take them weeks to re-install all the information they've got, people's names and statuses' and all that. I'm sure they've got backups somewhere but since only I've got access now, they'd have to re-install each DAM in person.”

“What kind of data was there, anyway? Apart from the basics?” Brian asks curiously.

“Exactly what we suspected. Medical records, stuff that would tell them whether or not the person is suitable for a selected job. I haven't looked through it all but it's mostly the same. None of the people could access any of it, of course, but there were also the results of genetic suitability. I've got it all in here, if anyone wants to take a look. I can inspect it more closely later but even this would be enough to expose them. I bet that civilians have no idea what kind of stuff the Protectors know about them.”

“Or they do, but they choose to stay blind instead,” Cat says, shrugging. “Would make sense if saying something could get you killed.”

The silence is as good of an agreement as any.

Since there is no way to know what's happening within the borders, the whole thing is kind of anticlimactic. Iggy and Jackson decide to dig into one of their projects to ease up a little and Brian takes off as soon as Jackson stands up from behind the desk, probably to go and be passive-aggressive towards Gareth who spends most of these days in his office.

Mickey and Cat decide to go and grab something to eat, both of them wearing matching frowns when they realize that the only thing available will be either canned beans or frozen stuff that neither of them is patient enough to prepare.

They end up settling for a cup of tea each, grumpily sitting down in sync. “How much longer do you think?”

“Couple hours, maybe? Shouldn't be long.” At least he hopes so. It's been two hours already since Andrew, Gina, Karen and Walt went on a food haul. The only reason none of them are crazy with worry as they'd usually be is because this time, Vladimir had already done the stealing for them. Or one of his rats had, not that Mickey cares. Anyway, all they have to do is get to the Market, stock up and return.

“I'm fucking starving,” she complains, setting the tea down more aggressively than necessary. Some of it spills onto the table but she ignores it, tapping her fingers against it in a regular motion. “Ian okay?”

Mickey's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. He's pretty much used to Cat acting indifferent towards Ian, which in itself is definitely better than resenting him as she had at first. “Um, getting there, I guess.” When she just nods and doesn't explain further, he adds, “Why the sudden concern?”

She shrugs and takes another sip, then says, “I think I've been kind of an ass to him. Even after it became completely clear that he's on our side. Dunno.”

“You two haven't exactly been exchanging friendship bracelets, but Ian's not a baby. He gets it.”

“Yeah, whatever,” she says, resuming the tapping of her fingers. “I'll probably drop by anyway. Hang out a bit or something. You think he'd mind?”

Honestly, Mickey isn't sure it's a good idea, not when Ian's feeling low like this, but he's not Ian's caretaker. Making Ian's decisions for him is not something he's aiming for.

“Dunno. You gotta go and see.”

Since Ian is probably still in Mickey's room, they walk there together. It's a bit strange, the way Cat suddenly wants to play nice with Ian, and Mickey can't say that he's not the least bit suspicious.

Before leaving, Mickey had grabbed a bottle of water for Ian, suspecting that he hadn't been out of the room yet. But as they walk inside, Ian is propped up against the wall, wearing clean clothes and smelling faintly of soap. He's surrounded by papers and he's wearing reading glasses, which Mickey has no idea how he got his hands on. Plus, he's sleeping, or napping at least, his head resting against one of Mickey's shelves.

As soon as they're inside, Ian's eyes shoot open, a slight frown forming on his face when he sees the two of them. “Hey,” he mumbles, smiling faintly.

“Hey there.” Mickey walks up to him and sits down, pointing at the papers curiously. “What's these?”

“Brian's files,” Ian says, shrugging. “I asked him for 'em. Wanted to get busy. I guess I fell asleep.”

“I can go if you want to get more sleep.”

“Nah, it's fine.” He looks up at Cat curiously and she comes closer, smiling.

“Hey. Mind if I tag along?”

Even if Ian is shocked, he doesn't let it show. He smiles once again, though his eyes remain distant and he offers her to sit down. Cat drags one of the chairs closer to the bed and scans the room. “This dump seems suspiciously cleaner than I remember. That your job?” She asks Ian, scoffing as she notices a neatly folded pile of Mickey's clothes by his bed.

“I got bored one day,” Ian shrugs, taking the water Mickey's offered him and taking a few gulps before setting it aside. “Are they back yet?”

“No. I'm so fed up with canned food, it's not even funny. Have you, uh. Eaten anything?”

Mickey doesn't want to pry, he really doesn't, but it's been three days and Ian barely managed to stomach two meals.

Ian sighs and shrugs again, “Not really hungry. I'll have something that's not beans when they return though.”

“I may have a chocolate hidden in my drawer,” Cat says with a grin, drawing both men's attention. “Was saving it for emergencies but my stomach's telling me that that's now.”

“Well go get it,” Mickey laughs impatiently.

She mutters something about him being overeager, but she gets up swiftly and walks out of the room, leaving the door open.

Ian's sigh is barely audible, but Mickey's basically like a radar when it comes to Ian. “She'd understand if you wanted to be alone. Me, too.”

“No, I'm… I'm glad you're here. And the idea of chocolate actually doesn't make me sick. I just hate this, is all.”

Mickey reaches out a hand and Ian takes it, intertwining their fingers as their palms clasp together. Cat comes back a few minutes later with a chocolate bar and some kind of sugar paste, dumping both of those on the bed before sitting down.

“What's this?” Ian asks, holding up the tube with the paste.

“No idea,” she says. “We found a dozen of these or so in a store once. Shit would last a hundred years, I bet. Plus it's disgustingly sweet, which is all that matters to me. Try it,” she prompts him, chuckling at his mildly disgusted expression as he pushes out a tiny amount on his finger and licks it down.

“That's just pure sugar,” he says, shuddering.

“Exactly. What's there not to like?” She asks, taking it away from him and squishing out a spoonful right into her mouth.

“Disgusting,” Mickey says at the same time as Ian mutters, “Dunno, cavity?”

She scoffs but stops stuffing her face and passes the tube on to Mickey who eyes it curiously. It doesn't taste bad, exactly, but he has a feeling that it's not supposed to be eaten on its own. Cat's right though – as long as it's sweet, he doesn't give a shit.

“Why would you willingly eat sugar in form of a green paste is beyond me,” Ian says once Mickey hands it back to Cat.

“It's green?” She asks, shocked. “What the fuck?”

“Yeah, like menthol toothpaste. Maybe it really _is_ toothpaste.”

Ian, dead set against eating any more of it, manages to eat a few pieces of the chocolate, sipping the water in between each bite. As time goes on, his eyes start drooping again and Mickey can see that he's fighting off sleep. He's torn between leaving and letting him nap and staying, letting Ian enjoy this semi-normal mood in case it gets worse again later.

Mickey and Cat get into a playful argument about each other's poor movie tastes back in the day, Ian getting more and more quiet until he's not saying anything, just looking at his and Mickey's still joined hands.

Cat either picks up on the mood or really has something to do, because she stands up no long after, muttering something about wanting to go check if they've come back already. She stands there awkwardly for a few seconds, as if she's contemplating asking something, but she just smiles and half-turns around before Ian says, “Thanks. I had a good time.”

She raises her eyebrows and grins, “Me too. We could hang out more, if you can get past the whole me being an ass to you in the beginning thing. You're actually pretty cool.”

Ian's lips twitch into a short smile. “It's all good.”

Cat nods and says bye to both of them, then walks out and closes the door this time. Ian draws little shapes onto the back of Mickey's hand with his thumb, probably subconsciously. “It's nice that she doesn't hate me anymore,” he says after a moment, his thumb moving back and forth, back and forth, then a circle.

“Cat never hated you. She was just scared.”

“Maybe,” he says. Another swipe of his thumb. Another circle. Mickey doesn’t like the way he says it, but he knows that convincing him wouldn't change anything. He knows that Ian isn't thinking straight and that blaming himself for things, thinking that everyone is after him and that neither of them _actually_ want him here is a default setting. It's not something Mickey's words could change. It's not something he could punch or threaten to go away. It's just Ian, Ian whose emotions are a mess sometimes and whose mind seems to be trained to persuade him that he's worthless, that he's the one to blame. No matter how much he hates it and how much he doesn't want to be that way, he simply just is. Mickey knows the facts and he knows how Ian feels because he actually listens when Ian tells him, but he doesn't _know_ , not really. So even if he can't make it better, he's determined to show Ian that he's not alone. That Mickey will always be within arm's reach, and that he'll always come back even if Ian sends him away. That despite this shitty world they're stuck in and someone else's battles that they're not supposed to be fighting, he doesn't regret any of it. That he'd do it all over again if it would land him in this exact moment, holding onto Ian's hand like a lifeline and hoping that despite the haze, Ian can understand all that.

He squeezes his hand.

_I'm with you. We're gonna be okay._

He leans in and kisses his temple, staying pressed close enough to hear Ian's hurt thumping in his chest.

_I'm so fucking glad that I've met you. I promise you that we'll get through this. We'll get them back. We'll win._

Slowly, Ian turns up his head, leaning in and pressing their lips together steadily, just keeping them there. His lips are burning hot and his breath feels like fire, even though his hand still hasn't gotten any warmer in Mickey's grasp. Ian moves away slightly and Mickey lets their foreheads rest together.

_I love you._

*

 

“How did she look?” Ian asks solemnly, studying Andrew's expression but being met with the same, blank look he's had on for the past two hours.

“Fine. She always looks fine. I think she'd rather die than seem weak in front of him. Us, too, probably.”

Andrew shakes his head and takes a deep drag of the cigarette – they brought a full box of them when they came back a few hours ago, at least somewhat lifting people's spirits up after breaking the news about Lana. 

Pregnant.

Mickey couldn't believe it and Andrew looked like a corpse when he said it and, despite the fact that he forced himself out of his bed for once, Ian felt like one. It makes the bile rise up his throat, the fact that such awful news did almost nothing to him. That his friends are angry and hurt and worried and his mind barely registered the words.

“It's fucking unfair,” Andrew says after a moment, chuckling dryly. “She's always wanted a kid, you know? But she said she'd never do it – why would anyone want to bring a kid into this world? To live on the run or like a brainless robot, no choices, nothing? I hate that he made her do it. I hate him. No amount of help from that scumbag is worth this and Lana should fucking realize that.”

“We'll get her out,” he says, trying to sound reassuring but knowing that he's failing miserably, his voice sounding hopeless and empty, like a recorded message.

Andrew must think so, too, since he doesn't even acknowledge that Ian's said something.

There's not much to say, really. Both of them feel like they've used up all their words, like talking would just turn everything even more real. They pass the cigarette back and forth and then light up another, content with sharing it instead of getting one each, the small brushes of their hands feeling like reminders that they're not alone up here. Ian wishes it could be enough.

It's not long after that Ian _has_ to leave. His skin feels wrong on his body and the burn of smoke in his lungs isn't the good kind anymore. He fucking hates himself so much when he tells Andrew, knowing that he should be there for him now. Andrew just looks at him and nods, muttering something about being tired anyway and Ian hopes that he can see the apology in his eyes. For not being able to comfort him, for not offering him any answers, any reassurances. For never being enough and for always, always making it about himself. Even though he doesn't mean to.

“Ian,” Andrew says when they're about to part ways. Ian stops and looks at him, swallowing down the bile that he can feel rising up his throat. “Thanks for not leaving me alone.”

It's not enough. It shouldn't be. But it's all he could give to Andrew, all he was capable of. Maybe, for him, it was enough.

“You too,” he says. He gives Andrew a faint smile and walks into his room, finding it empty. He goes straight to his bed and crashes onto it, hating the fact that his sheets don't smell of Mickey at all. Hating the way he can't get comfortable on the bed. Hating how he can't even find the strength to get up and go to Mickey's room instead.

Soon, though, he can't stand it anymore. He's sweating even though he's shivering from cold and with each passing second, he wants to crawl out of his skin more. Without even thinking about it, he stands up, grabs a change of clothes and heads into the bathroom. He doesn't even notice how he gets here, the idea of strays of hot water washing down his body keeping his legs moving.

Once he's in there, he turns the water on and climbs under it, realizing too late that his clothes are still on. Doesn't matter. They feel wrong, too. He turns the water as hot as he can stand it and just stands there for a few minutes, letting it flow down his body and hoping it could wash him from the inside, too. Cleanse and bleach and destroy all of it.

Subconsciously, he begins scrubbing at his skin, unable to stop the motion once he's began. When the pads of his fingers aren't enough, he replaces them with his nails, scrubbing and scrubbing and scrubbing and never getting it right. His skin feels like it's on fire now but he ignores it and turns the water even hotter, the fog rising up to the low ceiling. He thinks he should get out of those clothes but instead, his legs give out and he sits down. When the water hitting his skin starts feeling like daggers sinking in, he turns it off, but his nails keep riding up and down his arms, his neck, his torso, as if he could scrub his soul off of his skin.

He's gasping now, drawing each breath in faster than the one before. The fog makes it hard to breathe but he can't get up. He forces his mouth to clasp shut, biting his cheek hard and tasting the metallic taste of blood. He stops gasping for breath, at least for now. Everything stops.

 

*

 

When he wakes up, he feels cold – freezing, barely able to tell whether he's sitting or standing. His body is trembling and shaking, back and forth but it's not him who's doing it.

“Ian?”

He squints his eyes at Mickey who's holding him up against the cold tiles, shaking him gently. He looks terrified and Ian is confused for a second before he remembers where he is.

He wants to say something but his throat feels hoarse, so he lifts his hand up and touches Mickey's cheek, startled when he sees the blood covering his hand.

“Fuck. Fuck, come on. You need to get up. Can you get up for me?” Mickey's pressing his hand to his face and he looks at Ian pleadingly, just saying his name over and over until he nods. It's not easy, remembering how to use his legs properly, and even when he does, it feels like they're too weak to hold him. Mickey does so instead. He puts an arm around his waist and helps him get out of the shower, his clothes damping in the spots where Ian is pressed against him. Ian is focusing on Mickey, on his steady, slow steps and his calming words. He doesn't even know what he's saying, but he listens to his voice, tries to make sense of what's happened.

His mind feels clearer now, but it's an effort not to slip back. He hopes that if he does, Mickey's voice will bring him back up.

“Ian?”

They're in Mickey's room now, Mickey motioning him to the bed. Ian sits down and shivers as the cold creeps back in.

“Ian, you're shaking. You need to get out of those clothes. I'll help you, okay?”

He nods again, though it's probably hard to tell with how hard his body is trembling. He closes his eyes and does what Mickey tells him, lets him take care of the clothes and bites his tongue so that he can focus on something else but the cold. Mickey helps him put on some dry clothes and tells him to lie down. Then, when Mickey's added weight dips the matrass, Ian falls asleep.

It's probably been just minutes because Mickey still hasn't moved when he wakes up. He's not touching Ian but his face is nuzzled in the back of his neck, his unsteady breaths coming out shallow and harsh.

“Mick?” It's like talking with a throat full of pins, but it's something. He turns around on his other side so that he's facing Mickey. “I'm sorry. I'm sorry,” he chokes out, opening his mouth and hoping to find the right words, but they don't exist.

“Don't,” Mickey whispers, his eyes glued to Ian's. He puts his hand on Ian's, just lightly, caressing it with the pads of his fingers. “Are you… Can I clean these, now? Is that okay?” His fingers move over to Ian's forearm, not touching, just hovering over the deep, long scratches covering it, the dried blood creating patterns on his pale skin. Ian looks at it for a moment, startled but strangely detached, as if the arm belonged to someone else. He glances back at Mickey and nods, sitting up slowly. Mickey leaves but returns within minutes with a bowl of water and a cloth. He barely touches Ian as he cleans his arms, his hands, slowly moving up to his neck and asking a wordless question, to which Ian nods again before putting off his now bloodied shirt and cleaning his chest. There aren't as many scratches there, the forearms are the worst. Ian can barely recognize them.

“Ian?” Mickey says his name like that every time. Like welcoming him home after years of being gone. Why does it feel like a good bye instead? “Ian, what happened? Why did you do it?”

Ian just stares. Looks at Mickey – looks at the face he's been looking at for weeks – and tries to recognize it.

“Didn't feel right,” he says. He still doesn't. Nothing does – not even Mickey. Despite that, though, the way he holds Ian's hand, the spot where his skin is pressed against Ian, _that_ feels real. “Please,” he says, not even knowing what he's asking for, but maybe Mickey can read his mind after all. Maybe it's the only way he can communicate right now. Nevertheless, they lie down together and Mickey draws him in close, clasps his arms firmly around Ian and lets him burrow his face in his neck. His touches aren't just barely there anymore. He's holding onto Ian strong enough to hurt, if it was a different time, but now it feels like he's keeping him from falling apart.

He tries to get a grip on reality before it slips away from his grasp. He focuses on Mickey's heart thumping and only lets himself breathe in his smell, remembers how Mickey mumbles his name in his sleep sometimes and how he looked at him moments before, hoping never to cause Mickey to look that way, ever again. He remembers the feeling that's been growing stronger and stronger in his stomach, remembers saying good morning and meaning I love you, remembers drawing the words onto Mickey's skin and breathing them out into each and every kiss.

Maybe if Mickey doesn't let go, he might just make it through this.

 

*

 

Ian keeps slipping in and out of sleep the whole time, but Mickey barely even closes an eye. He's too afraid to wake up and find the bedside empty. Each time Ian wakes up, the first thing he says is, “I'm sorry.” Mickey just holds him, not knowing what to say anymore and hoping that his touches can tell it for him. He doesn't cry, hasn't since he's found Ian, but he feels like maybe he should.

It's a few hours after dawn, though Mickey can only guess, when Ian wakes up and stays quiet. He only knows by the way his body stirred, but he's perfectly still now, staring up at the ceiling, his lips trembling slightly.

“Hey,” Mickey says softly, and Ian turns his head slightly, finding his eyes. “Mickey,” he says. “I…”

“Don't say it,” he jumps in quickly, knowing that hearing those words one more time would send the tears gathering in his eyes flowing freely. “Ian, _fuck_.” He doesn't even say anything else, just clutches his hand tighter. Ian lets out a little gasp, shutting his eyes closed.

“I am though,” he says. “Everything is wrong. You shouldn't be worrying about me when – “

“Will you stop it?” Mickey grits through his teeth, wanting to wipe that expression off Ian's face, the nonsensical _guilt_ that's settled there. “I'm not going anywhere. No matter what. I always want to be right next to you.”

“You shouldn't.”

“Ian, I –“

“I don't want to be me anymore. You should leave. Leave, Mickey. Please.”

He hates how those words sting, even though he knows that Ian doesn't want him to go, not really. He tightens the grip on Ian's hand and says, “Open your eyes. Ian.” When he does, he adds, “I'll never leave you. You'll get through this and I'll be right fucking here, with you.”

And Ian lets him. It takes a full day for him to get up and drink some water. It takes another one for him to say something, but when he does, it's not an apology.

“Thank you,” he whispers as they are sitting on the bed, both of them leaning against it. He reaches for Mickey's hand and holds it up to his lips, leaving a lingering kiss on his knuckles and Mickey feels a wave of comfort wash over him. It's him who should be doing it, him who should be the strong one now.

“Are you hungry?” he asks, and when Ian doesn't immediately say no, it's the most hope he's had in days. “I could bring you something.”

“Maybe,” Ian says, looking apologetic again. “I'm not sure I can…”

“It's okay. You can try. I'll be right back, okay?” He waits for Ian to confirm it before standing up and walking out of the door, lingering by its frame for a second before turning away. He'll come back. He'll always come back.

He doesn't even make it to the end of the hall when Andrew joins him.

“Ian?” he asks, walking alongside Mickey. He doesn't know what to say.

“I'm going to grab him some food. Said he'll try to eat some.”

“Mind if I go with you?”

“Nah,” he says, actually glad for the company. He's talked to Andrew a few times over these last few days, letting him know about Ian. He told him how he doesn't know what to do. How Ian seems to crumble in front of him and he can't stop it. Andrew told him that all he can do is _be there_.

“How are _you_ doing?” Andrew asks him on their way back from the main hall, “There's just two days left till the mission. You think you'll be okay?”

If it was anyone else but Andrew, Mickey would probably snap, tell them to mind their own business and stop patronising him as if he couldn't deal with his own shit. But he knows that Andrew means every word, that he cares.

“I'll be fine,” he says, having repeated the words to himself often enough that they don't even sound like a lie anymore. “How 'bout you? You still planning on going?”

“Yeah. Wouldn't miss it. You think Ian…”

“No one will force him. I'll wait if he brings it up.”

“You're doing good, Mickey,” Andrew says just as they're stopping in front of his door. He frowns and swallows dryly, but Andrew continues, “Not everyone would stay or care that much. Even if he can't express it now, just know that he's fucking grateful. You're good for him.”

He nods, offering Andrew a tight smile before disappearing behind the door and leaning against it. Ian spots him from the bed and it almost seems like he might smile. They eat some food and though it's not much, at least Ian doesn't get sick anymore. Mickey finds out that, for some reason, Ian can't stand the quiet anymore, and so he talks and talks, about anything that comes to his mind, anything but the misery surrounding them. Ian doesn't say much himself, but he snorts when he finds something funny, he laughs dryly when he should have been shaking with laughter but it's _enough_. It's more than enough.

 

*

 

Those next two days pass like a blur. Everyone seems to be in limbo, not knowing whether they should be thrilled or terrified, most of them ending up in a weird mix of both.

When the day does come, it's unusually calm. They don't know anything about Vladimir's plan, but no matter what it is, they're not backing off. This is _happening._ In the end, since Gareth hasn't talked to anyone except Leslie and Brian yet, Mickey ends up leading the group. It was a unanimous decision, and though he wasn't so sure about it in the beginning, he admits that he'll feel better if he's got some sort of control over the situation.

It's him, Andrew, Cat, Ian and Jackson in the car now, Vladimir's car a black spot in front of them, leading them to the border. It's not even that bad of a feeling anymore, crossing it. All Mickey can think about is how with each mile, they're getting closer to not only The Central, but to Lana, too. He forces himself not to think of it as the last time they see each other when they finally end up at the Market, Alexei and Roman pointing their guns at them again while Vladimir, though reluctantly, asks one of his men to bring Lana.

It's not a nice meeting. She's looking more through them than at them, desperately clinging to the version in which she is perfectly alright. But her façade is slipping, she's not as careful as she used to be. Others can see now, too, can see the hint of fear in her eyes, the hesitation in her voice when she says she's doing just fine. Mickey barely says a word, too afraid to lose his nerves again, but he hugs her as tightly as he could, hoping that she'd understand what he means. That they're coming for her. In that moment, he decides not to lose. It's no longer an option.

“What's the plan?” Mickey asks at last, once Lana had said good-bye and left, the image of her shaky smile still vivid in his memory.

“Oh, you're gonna love this,” Vladimir says jovially. He says something to his men and then, for a terrifying moment, Mickey is certain that Vladimir has sold them over to the Protectors. He gasps for breath loudly as he sees the two soldiers walking into the room and he can hear the shocked yelps coming from his right, but his eyes never leave the soldiers. After a few agonizing seconds, he realizes that something is off.

“Disguise,” Vladimir laughs out, motioning at the soldiers. “These two will get you to The Central. They'll arrest you and place you into custody in The Central.”

“Are you out of your mind?” Gina snaps furiously, still a few steps back than she was originally standing. She turns to Mickey swiftly, expecting a similar reaction, but after the initial shock, Mickey can see how this could be the way.

“Keep talking,” he prompts Vladimir, gesturing with his hand impatiently.

“As I was saying,” Vladimir says with a smile, “you will be placed into custody. I've got men in The Central, too, you'll be alright. As you already know, The Central should be mostly deserted, though you shouldn't count on that. There will definitely be guards, just not as many soldiers as usually. Once you're imprisoned, these two will dismantle the cameras and get rid of the supervisors, replacing them themselves. After that, you are free to leave and do your thing. Don't forget the plane. I believe you won't need a ride home that way, but if you were to fail and still had the courage to come back here, knowing you'll live with the guilt forever, well… My men will gladly take you back.”

“How do we know we can trust them? That they're really your men and not actual Protectors? We could be voluntarily be getting actually arrested right now, for all we know.”

The flicker of amusement in Vladimir's eyes does not go unnoticed as he says, “You'll just have to take my word for that one.”

Mickey looks at his group. The people that have agreed that he should lead them. They look conflicted, of course, but he knows that they'd all agree with him. They don't have any other choice.

“We're in,” he says quietly, not letting his eyes off his friends. Each of them nods slowly and he wishes that he hasn't just agreed to something awful on their behalf. Be that as it may, they've all known what they were getting into. All they have left is hope.

Barely an hour later, once they have gone over the plan with Vladimir four times in a row, the group takes off. The fake-Protectors have brought very not-fake looking service cars, and there are two more of them in each of the two sedans. They have to separate, two to one car and three to the other, and it's not that bad, not really, though Mickey feels weirdly sick when he realizes that Ian will be in the other car with just Jackson. He's still not okay, no matter what he says, and to leave him with that idiot for fuck knows how long… Well. It doesn't make him feel exactly at ease.

As expected, it gets even worse the longer the ride takes. It's not just the stress, not just the nerves or the worry or anything he could put his finger on, but he notices the good old panic settling in his chest. He's got it under control, for now, it's presence a familiar sting that forces him to keep moving. He joins the meaningless talks and ignores the way the fake-Protectors won't even look at them, he gapes at the unfamiliar lands spreading out behind the glass as they race through it. It's a lot of sight to take in, after having lived in darkness for so long, mostly because even before, he had never actually travelled. He can tell that both Cat and Andrew feel similar, judging from the looks of wonder on their otherwise stone faces.

They make two short stops on the way, get pulled over every now and then by guards but everything goes smoothly. Almost too smoothly, in Mickey's opinion. When they finally get into the City, they are immediately taken aback by all the chaos. Mickey had not expected such a sight – the people in the streets, the sirens, the loud noises and the screaming and the sound of glass shattering.

_We did this_ , he thinks, torn between feeling guilty when he hears the crying, when he sees people get beaten and walked over… But a bit proud, too, because those people are not losing. They're holding up, still fighting, and once they all see the truth, there will be nothing in this world able to stop them. They're going to free them.

“Almost there,” one of the fake-soldiers says as he holds the button on his wristwatch, “we are ready to pass the gate.” There is no answer, but as they drive by the tall, metallic building and continue to the left, the driveway ends suddenly. Then, the gate on their right – which they had assumed was just a part of the wall – folds itself up, revealing a drive-through.

Mickey holds his breath as they enter, but just as everything up until now, there isn't a single disturbance – as if they were entering a shopping mall, not the military's safe-house.

“What happens now?” Cat asks after the call pulls over suddenly, stopping midway into the small tunnel.

“Now, we call for backup.” The same man speaks again, and before he could finish the sentence, the room is filled with the sound of sirens, the red lights flickering on each of the walls, forcing Mickey's breathing to become shallow.

“Oh my God,” Cat whispers, looking around in fear. “Oh God.”

“Cat,” Andrew says, grabbing her wrist lightly, “it's okay. It's part of the plan. We're fine. Okay?”

She nods, bites her lip firmly and breathes out, visibly bracing herself for what's to come. Mickey wishes he could get himself to stop freaking out, too, but then the soldiers – real ones, this time – burst in from both sides. He glances at the car behind them and hopes that neither of them will recognize Ian. It was a hell of a risk for him to come, they all know that, but Jackson doesn't know the system as well as he does. They need him here.

He doesn't have a chance to make sure they haven't been discovered. Two soldiers grab his arms forcibly and push him forward, roughly leading him to one of the halls they'd run out of. Andrew is in front of him and he assumes that the rest are following them, but there's no way for him to make sure. The walk seems to take hours, but it's actually maybe ten minutes until they reach the end of the hall. They appear in a dark room, which leads to another one, and then a big, long room with just that one entrance, it seems. On the other side, there's a metal wall and it doesn't take him long to spot the cameras. This has to be it.

He doesn't expect the blow to the head, which is the reason why his legs give out when the soldier hits him. He stays conscious, but his head is spinning and buzzing and it takes a lot of effort to get back up. He reaches up to the back of his head and he feels blood. He makes sure not to look at it as he lets it back down and turns away.

“Everyone okay?” he asks, noticing that the soldiers have left.

“Are _you_ okay? That must have hurt,” Cat says as she looks at him with worry. None of them seem to be injured, so there's that, at least. Ian's eyeing his hand with a puzzled expression but that disappears quickly. Mickey sends him a tight smile and nods, looking around the room.

“You think they're watching us?” Andrew asks, pointing at one of the cameras.

Mickey shrugs, careful not to mention anything in case they can hear them, too. “Dunno. I guess we have to wait now.”

“Perfect,” Andrew says ironically, walking to the wall and sitting down so that his back's pressed against it.

Jackson starts muttering something to himself, but it's not nearly loud enough for any of them to hear. Mickey is worried for a while that just because they can't hear that well, the systems could make the sounds out, but as Jackson paces back and forth, he catches a syllable or two.

_“… Imagine there's no heaven...”_

“Are you singing?” he asks, raising his eyebrows.

“Ever heard of coping mechanisms? Or are you too badass to admit that we just got fucking arrested and will most likely rot in this shithole?!”

As he lashes out on Mickey, Jackson keeps stealing glances at one of the cameras, never looking at it directly or for long enough.

“Not my fucking fault, is it?!” he plays along, realizing what Jackson is doing. If they are watching them, they need to look at least a bit broken up about ending up in there.

“Guys. Guys, stop.” It's Ian. His eyes are glued to the entrance where a woman appears, her expression calm and controlled, though she smirks slightly as she walks in.

“Hello, everyone. My name's Rowan. I believe we have a mutual acquaintance.” She makes a face as she says the word acquaintance, as if calling Vladimir that disgusted her, which makes Mickey think that they could trust her.

Neither of them say hello, but she doesn't seem to mind. She's wearing a dark jumpsuit that doesn't seem like a typical Protectors' uniform, but she's got a badge and a gun and an air of authority that makes Mickey believe she's one of them. He tries not to scowl at her, but it's not exactly easy.

“You don't need to worry, no one's watching you from out there. The guards have been replaced a few minutes ago. You're free to leave.” She smiles and opens the door further, stepping to the side so that they can walk by her.

“Why are you helping us?” Cat asks, frowning.

“You're not the only ones. Don't forget that.” With that, Rowan looks at them once again and nods shortly before walking out, leaving the door wide open. This time, they don't hesitate. As soon as they're out, Ian leads them to the end of the hall which they originally came from, then turns to the right abruptly and leads them up a narrow set of stairs.

At the top of it, he stops, turning around. “When we walk out of here,” he says, “we'll appear at the completely wrong side of the building. I know a short-cut that can get us to the control's room, but it leads straight through the Atrium. I'd rather not go there, but we'll have to if we don't have a choice. It's highly unlikely that it'll be empty.”

“What about the longer way?” Mickey asks, not at all eager to run into a bunch of Protectors.

“It's safer,” Ian replies, “but the risk is still there. I guess it doesn't really matter which path we choose, but…”

“Which one do you think is the best? You know it here,” Cat cuts him off, crossing her arms.

“The longer one,” Ian says at last, looking at each of them to confirm before pushing the door open. The hallway is completely deserted, much to their luck.

“I don't like this,” Cat says as they're nearing the end of another hall, almost by the control's room by now, Ian says. “It's too empty. Feels like a trap somehow.”

“I know. Nothing we can do about it even if it is, though.”

“Yeah.” She sighs but lets the topic be. Mickey watches Ian and Jackson who are walking in front of them, visibly tensed but not stopping until they reach the right door.

They all exchange looks before walking in, breathing out in unison when they find the room empty.

“No security? Passwords? Nothing?” Jackson asks confusedly, looking around the round room filled with tech. There are engines and computers and all sorts of shit Mickey can't even name, but it's definitely the place they've been looking for. The small flicker of hope burns a bit brighter in his chest when he realizes that they have a chance to get this through.

“There's no reason. No one's ever broken in,” Ian replies simply, smiling a bit as he walks up to the front. “Let's do this.”

Then, it's a bit of a blur to Mickey. Ian and Jackson work quietly, exchanging a few remarks here and there but mostly focusing on the task at hand. It's nearly fifteen minutes later that they stop abruptly.

“What the hell…?” Jackson sighs out, gaping at the screen.  

“That's impossible. It can't be.” Ian's shaking his head, stepping back from the computer and letting out a desperate laugh.

“What's going on?” Mickey asks, but neither of them reply. Jackson gets back to reading and pushing buttons and doing god knows what, and just as Ian seems to get a grip and turns around, it's there again.

The sirens.

“Don't move!”

There's at least fifteen of them. Mickey has no idea how they all managed to get into the room with no one noticing, but his mind is a bit preoccupied with all the guns pointing at him and his friends to care.

“Don't shoot,” he mutters, raising his hands up. He could never reach for his own gun without drawing their attention and even if, they're outnumbered by a tonne. He feels the dread settle in but he forces it deep down. He has to think.

Then, the group of Protectors divides in the middle, making room for a young man who's wearing a suit, not a uniform, a man barely older than Mickey, it seems. He looks like some kind of a leader, but Mickey can't be sure.

“Sir. My greetings.”

To say that Mickey is shocked would be an understatement. He glances at Ian who's looking at the man with so much respect that, had it not been for the flicker of fear, Mickey would suspect that he's one of Ian's secret friends.

“What's the meaning of this?!” The man asks, frowning as he walks up to Ian. “How come you're alive? With these traitors? You should be rotting in prison by now.”

“I apologize for causing all the trouble, sir.” Ian's voice is barely recognizable, his whole stance is. This is the soldier Ian they're looking at – the Protector he had once been. “I'm afraid there's been a misunderstanding. I've been trying to get back to you for weeks, ever since my sister forced me to help her run away. I got captured by the rebels soon after and I could not get in touch with you by any means.”

Mickey would believe him. Without even passing a glance, he'd believe every single word that leaves Ian's mouth, and the thought terrifies him. He's sure that it's all a lie, a bluff, but for a fraction of a second, he had a terrible feeling that _maybe_ …

The man is now standing in front of Ian, shooing his men away when they try to follow him.

“I remember you,” he says at last, looking up at Ian and, though the top of his head barely reaches Ian's nose, it seems like he's towering above him. “It was such a shame when you betrayed us.”

“I assure you, sir, I have not betrayed you. Ever since I got imprisoned, I had been trying to win these people's trust. To get them to include me as one of their own. I believe that I have achieved it. They followed me right here. I hope you'll see it as a proof of my loyalty.”

“Are you fucking serious?!” Andrew's growl would have been terrifying, had it not been for the fact that Andrew never loses his shit like this. Not even if Ian had actually betrayed them. He believes Ian, of course, he had never stopped, and the tiny flicker of distrust Mickey had felt for a second disappears immediately. This is Ian. Ian, doing everything he can to save them.

Ian doesn't reply. He doesn't even glance in Andrew's direction – just keeps looking at the man who seems to be deep in thought.

“Very well,” he says at last, “Get rid of them. Gallagher lives.”

If Mickey hadn't learnt to read him after so long, he wouldn't have noticed, but he could see the way desperation overtook Ian's mind.

The Protectors raise their guns again, which is when Ian speaks. “I haven't told you all of it. I've got information about the other rebels, but I don't know everything. I believe that, with certain _methods_ , you could get them to talk.”

Another few seconds pass and Mickey is sure that it's his last moments alive. He hopes Ian won't beat himself up about it. He hopes that he and Jackson had managed to do _something_.

He doesn't have enough time to wish for anything, else, however, because the man smiles and snaps his fingers, and he can hear something but he's not sure what. He feels pain, somewhere, but it's distant. Blurry. He looks at Ian. Always at Ian.

Everything goes black.

 

 


	8. A little bit naked and empty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I thought I was going to go crazy,” he whispers weakly. “Like if I let myself slip away, I might never fully wake up again.”
> 
> What is the logical next step when you find out you've been living a lie this whole time?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> these last two are unedited, I'll re-upload them at some point but I just wanted to get the story out there so hopefully it's not that bad. thank you all for reading, it means everything xx

 

**_Chapter 8: A little bit naked and empty_ **

 

*

 

The sound Leslie wakes up to is what she's been fearing for years. 

Voices. Dozens and dozens of voices. It feels like they're just outside her door and for a short moment, she thinks about hiding. Digging a tunnel with her nails and crawling inside, crawling under, until she's absolutely certain that no one would ever find her.

She pushes the thought deep down and forces herself to get up. The walls seem to be shaking, tightening around her, but it's just an illusion. The only indication that anything is out of the ordinary is the noise.

Leslie gets up and takes a shaky breath before opening the door. Letting them find her in there, scared and alone, would be so much worse than facing them. The hallway is empty, but the voices are coming from the center. She checks each and every room as she's making her way to the main hall, but they're all empty. She hopes it doesn't mean they're all dead. It can't.

“…Hands against the wall! No talking or I shoot!”

Almost there, almost there. Running the last few feet, she breathes out in both relief and horror as she steps into the main hall and watches the scene unfold in front of her.

Her vision gets a bit blurry from the sudden weakness and she can't help it but let out a painful gasp. They're all there – all of her friends, standing next to each other with their backs to her, their hands raised above their heads, palms pressed against the wall. Some of them are shaking.

It's mere seconds before two pairs of strong hands grip her shoulders and push her forward roughly. No one says anything to her and she doesn't attempt to talk her way out. She knows that there's no use.

“Is that everyone?” A woman's voice barks from behind her. She can only guess how many of them are behind her but the one to reply is definitely the same guy she's heard talking before.

“We're still searching the rooms. According to our source, there should be fifteen in total. Six are still nowhere to be found but it is possible that the source was wrong.”

Leslie hears a sharp intake of breath on her left. She peeks an eye open and glances at Iggy who she is sure must be thinking the same thing. Who sold them out? Who betrayed them?

“Alright,” the woman says, “I'll meet you up there when they're done.”

Leslie can't make out any more words, just hurried whispering and angry hissing. It seems like the Protectors hadn't expected some of them not to be there. Thinking about the fact that, right now, their friends are probably working on bringing them down, she feels an irresistible desire to laugh. She must have made a sound, because Iggy presses his ankle against hers, breathing out her name as quietly as possible, “Lee.” It's enough to bring her back there.

“Have I not made myself clear?” The man growls slowly as he hits the back of Iggy's head with his gun, the sound of his skull hitting the metal resonating in the silence. “Keep quiet.”

Leslie tries not to bring any more attention to them once the man's face disappears from her line of sight, but Iggy's forehead is still pressed against the wall, he hasn't moved yet – she has to make sure he's alright. Slowly, she moves her hand to the left, inch by inch until her pinky touches his. When he moves his hand so that it covers hers entirely, she breathes out in relief.

“Turn around. Slowly. Keep your hands up and don't try anything. If anyone runs, you all die on the spot.”

As instructed, they all step back and turn towards the soldiers who had attacked their home. There are ten of them in the room, but it's obvious that more are in the halls still, plus she's sure they've got men on the ground as well. The guns pointing at them are nothing like what Vladimir's men use – these are designed to kill, designed not to miss no matter what. Even if at least some of them had guns, they'd never have a chance. Now, all they can do is hope that their friends will finish their mission. It's all that matters now.

The woman who's been speaking seems to be the leader, but it's hard to say with the Protectors. No one really understands their hierarchy.

They're all dressed in tight uniforms, some of them different shades than the others. There's probably some kind of a system to it, but Leslie's eyes are glued to the leader. Her uniform is the lightest shade of grey; it almost seems white in the lighting. Her scalp is bald and tattooed with various shapes and symbols, some of them going all the way down her neck and to her forehead.

“Who is in charge here?” She asks then, stepping forward a step. A few seconds pass before Brian speaks, “I am.” Gareth barely picks out his gaze from the floor.

The woman gestures with her hand and two of the men grab him, bringing him forward so that he's facing her. For all his flaws, Brian doesn't look intimidated at all. He stands there as if they were having a friendly chat, maintaining the perfect mixture of indifference and cold respect.

“What's your name?”

“Brian,” he says. “What's yours?”

She shoots him a puzzled look. “Don't speak until I tell you to. And do not ask me questions. Now, where is the rest of your group?”

“We're all here,” he shrugs, his voice confident and firm.

The woman steps even closer, pressing the gun to his chin as she spits, “That's not what we were told. I'm going to ask again. Where are they?”

Leslie can only see his profile, but even then she registers the amused look he shoots her. “You've really got balls, lady. I've tried playing nice, but are you really that _dumb_ ,” he says, grabbing the hand in which she's holding the gun, “that you thought I'd tell you anything? How fucking likely of your Protector asses. You think the whole world will kiss your ass, well guess what. You're screwed. Soon, you will be over and my death won't change that. So just keep pushing that barrel into my neck, because I ain't telling you shit.”

For a terrifying second, Leslie is certain that the woman will pull the trigger. She can see the annoyance in her face, her façade breaking, but in the end, she lets go of Brian.

“Take him up. He's obviously hiding something. Get it out of him.”

“You can try,” he spits out, shaking out of the soldier's grasp but failing to resist when another one appears and starts dragging him out.

“Oh, I will,” the woman says, a small smile appearing on her face. “For each minute that you don't speak, one of your friends dies. All you'll hear will be the gunshots. You won't know who just died. And it will all be your fault. How's that?”

If she didn't know Brian, Leslie would think he really isn't affected by that at all. “You think I care?” he asks, right before he disappears behind the wall.

“What happens now?” Karen asks the soldier, crossing her arms across her chest.

“Hands up,” she replies. When Karen does so, she continues. “After we get you up onto the ground, there will be charges pressed against you. The punishment will be decided in The Central. If you cooperate and tell us where your remaining members are, there is a possibility that you will live. You've got two minutes. After that, I will fulfil my promise to Brian.”

“One thing,” Leslie steps in, hating the way her voice trembles. She should be stronger than that, dammit. She has to be. “How did you find us?”

The other soldiers all exchange looks, the slight smirks on their faces sending a shiver down her spine.

“We have our ways,” the woman says as Walt steps forward. He walks right up to her and stands by her side. Even then, it takes them all several seconds for it to click.

“No,” Iggy blurts out, his hands falling down to his sides and curling into fists. “No fucking way. How could you?!”

Walt doesn't even spare him a glance. He looks just like them now. Stoic. Merciless.

She catches a glimpse of Iggy as he moves forward, but before he could do something stupid, like get himself killed, she reaches out for his shoulder and stops him, noticing that Mandy does the same on his other side at the same time. The two women exchange a look filled with dread, but it only lasts a second.

“Let go.” Iggy's glaring at Walt still, but Leslie doesn't bulge.

“No,” she says, squeezing his hand tighter. “It's not worth it. Iggy. Focus.”

“Impressive,” one of the soldiers says, raising his brow at the way Iggy visibly calms down.

“Walt,” he says, his voice barely a whisper this time. “Walt, look at me. Why?”

The man they had all considered a friend turns to face them, frowning. He does not reply, just stares at Iggy. Leslie wonders whether it was all an act. She remembers how close he and Iggy used to be. How he was a part of their little family, if only a bit quiet at times. How he never showed a single sign of being a traitor.

Walt just shakes his head and turns back to the woman in charge. In that exact moment, Leslie realizes what's been nagging at her ever since Walt stepped forward. He knows where they are. He's been to all the meetings, knows all of their plans. There's no reason for him not to tell them, which means he's either lying to the Protectors or there's something else they want to know.

Either way, her thoughts are soon transferred back to the leader.  She steps forward and as if by a charm, all the sounds die out, creating an illusion of a limbo where time passes both too quickly and not at all.

“Your time is up,” she says, her expression unchanged. “Take them up. Let's see what Blackbird managed to get out of that clown.” The woman turns the gun upwards and fires a bullet, smirking at the sound while Leslie feels herself crouching down.

The whole group is then rushed up the halls, their captors walking with so much confidence, like they have walked through those paths as many times as they have. Leslie catches a few worried glances of her friends, but there is no way to exchange even a few words. She doesn't know what she'd say anyway.

Up on the ground, there are thirty, maybe forty Protectors in total, all of them armed and looking ready to attack any second, though at the same time, their expressions seem teasing. As if they are prompting them to show resistance.

“Where's Brian?” Iggy asks as soon as they push him forward, his eyes burning holes into Walt's back. No one answers him, which makes the others demand the answer as well. She can't join in; her mouth feels slack and there's something just out of her reach, some detail that's been haunting her ever since…

“Oh God,” she breathes out, cursing herself and hoping no one noticed. Both Karen and Iggy shoot her a questioning glance, but she ignores them, not taking her eyes off Walt who's still facing away from them, his frame just as still as before, maybe too still, even.

Leslie keeps walking, brushing her hand against Iggy's every now and then, trying to keep herself from smiling because _of course_.

Finally, it all makes sense.

 

*

 

He should be used to it by now, he thinks. Waking up with a massive headache, every single inch of his body throbbing with pain. He blinks into the bright, sterile light right above his head, then slowly sits up and looks around.

Andrew and Cat are both sitting on his right side, prepped up against the white wall which blends into the white floor. Their dark, dirty clothes, the bruises and the cuts are so much more obvious this way.

“Why am I always the one getting punched in the head?” he hisses quietly, catching the two's attention.

“Are you okay?” Andrew asks while Cat remarks, “One time of the two, it was with a gun. Surprised there's no permanent damage visible yet.”

He grins at her, noting the tear tracks on her cheeks and swallowing audibly.

“What happened? How long have I been out?” He stutters and looks around the room again, confused. “Where's Jackson?”

“They dragged him out of that room right after they knocked you out,” Andrew says grimly. “We haven't seen him since. It couldn't have been more than an hour, two tops. There's no way out of here, we already checked. Just this stupid white room with no doors.”

“Fuck,” he growls, forcing the panic down. “No one has been here since?”

They both shake their heads, looking as miserable as Mickey feels.

“So what? We just wait?”

“Seems like it,” Andrew mutters. “Maybe Ian will figure something out. He's our only chance.”

Mickey clutches his hands into fists, determined to hold onto that hope with all he has. He cannot fail them, not when there's still a chance left, however small.

“He will,” he says, determined.

At a certain point, time becomes meaningless. Mickey is convinced that the room is supposed to drive them crazy, and honestly, he feels more on the verge of sanity with every timeless moment passing. They try talking, but neither of them is able to hold the conversation for very long. They keep slipping into despair, fearing that they're never get out of there. They have no idea where Jackson is and why he's not with them. Same about Ian, but Mickey forces himself not to think about it. There's nothing he could beat his frustration out on here, and what would it help, anyway?

They manage to fall asleep, but time passing or not, Mickey is certain that neither of them has slept for more than an hour. He's tired and thirsty and his throat hurts from the lack of talking, but all of that seems muted, distant.

He settles on watching Andrew then, who's been squeezing Cat's hand the whole time she's been asleep. His eyes are empty as he's gazing at the wall, not acknowledging Mickey at all. His breathing is calm, controlled, his lips moving with every inhale and exhale. After a moment, Mickey realizes that he's counting.

“Andrew,” he rasps, repeating the name when barely any sound comes out. “Andrew, we need to do something.”

The man finally lifts his eyes and meets his, though he doesn't say a word. Mickey bites the inside of his cheek hard enough to draw blood, then forces himself to get up, ignoring the cracking of his joints as he does so. Andrew's gaze isn't following him and when he looks at Cat, he notices that she's not asleep. She's staring at the ceiling, looking almost like a corpse with only her breathing indicating that she's alive.

“Guys,” he tries again, louder this time. “Andrew. Cat.” Nothing.

Then, he yells. He yells as loud as he can, as fucking loud as his lungs allow him, and when not even that pulls his friends out of the trance, he breaks. He falls down and the screams turn into sobs. And he hopes someone would hear, just so they could get out of there. Just so they wouldn't die there.

“Mickey.”

He closes his mouth shut, his lips trembling as he glances at Cat. She's looking at him, finally looking at him and he exhales shakily, grabbing the hand she offered him and holding on tightly.

“We'll be okay,” she whispers, pulling him into a hug and not letting go. Mickey buries his face in her shoulder and bites his tongue to stop the sobs. When they part, Andrew's looking at them, too, and he lets Cat pull him in as well.

After that, they talk. No matter what, they make sure to keep talking, anything to keep them focused. If Mickey were to guess, he'd say a few days must have passed, though it could have been just hours. But he's not losing hope. It's all they have left.

When they hear the sound, it feels like salvation.

“Someone is coming,” Cat says in awe, staring at the wall on their left from behind which they can hear distant voices. At this point, neither of them cares whether the Protectors have come to kill them.

When the door appears in the otherwise smooth wall, they can't see anything in the darkness behind it. But then, a man steps forward, and both Cat and Andrew freeze by his side, but Mickey's heartbeat picks up. The man is frowning as he walks into the room, but he offers them a small smile.

“I apologize for taking so long. We had to come up with a new plan after the old one failed, but it's almost over now.”

The man's words are somehow too hard to register, too hard to believe. But when he frowns slightly and says, “My name's Isaac. I'm not your enemy,” a small smile creeps up Mickey's face.

He stands up shakily and grins at his friends who are watching the man wearily, then looks back at Isaac and the other two people whose figures are now visible in the darkness behind him.

“Can you get us out?” he asks, his voice still a bit rough around the edges.

Isaac raises his eyebrows as he says, “We already have. You're free. We all are.”

“What do you mean? Who are you?” Cat asks in confusion, her eyes shooting back and forth between the two of them. “You know this man?”

“We've got answers, but first, let's get you out of here. I promise that we'll explain everything to you as soon as you're somewhere safer.” Isaac steps aside and motions for them to walk out, which, after so long, seems almost surreal. Whether Cat and Andrew are too numbed to care to ask more questions or they just trust Mickey, he doesn't know, but he's glad nonetheless that they stand up and follow them out into the dark. It's not long until they reach another door, which leads to a tunnel that seems to be endless, the soft light gentle to their eyes after the constant brightness.

“What about Ian and Jackson?” Andrew mutters as soon as he can see the people accompanying them, stopping Isaac with a grip on his shoulder. He eyes him and the two others wearily, but Isaac doesn't seem puzzled. He looks at Andrew with a genuine expression and says, “They're safe. We'll join them soon, but we have to keep moving. If you trust Ian, you can trust us.”

Andrew nods and his confusion momentarily disappears, getting replaced by a blank face as he continues walking behind them. Mickey feels his legs shaking but he refuses to stop, not even to think because he's sure that if he does that, he'll either collapse or have a breakdown. He can think later, ask later. Now, all he has to do is follow Isaac down that never-ending tunnel and hope that whatever is waiting on its other side will be better than what he's leaving behind.

He aches to ask how much longer when his legs are barely holding him up anymore, but he swallows the question down each time, until finally, they reach the sharp turn to the left with a double door on its end.

There, Isaac stops and says something to the woman by his side who just nods and turns towards them.

“After we walk out this door, you need to remain calm. We won't have much time to get to the car and we can't stop. Whatever you see, keep moving. Can you do that?”

Mickey finds himself nodding, but he doesn't have the time to check whether his friends had done the same when the door opens, revealing the street he doesn't recognize, but either way, he has an odd feeling that everything about it is just _wrong_.

The soldiers rush them out and he forces himself to keep stepping forward, keep his eyes focused on the back of the man's head, knowing that whatever the sounds and the smoke and the cries mean, he can't pay them attention now.

The truck they get into feels too small, too much like the white room they had just escaped from, but as soon as they're safely inside and the engine kicks on, a strange sense of calm washes over Mickey. He allows himself to feel safe, if only for a moment.

“Where are we going?” Cat asks, her biting tone creeping its way back into her voice. There are no windows to speak of and the engine is too quiet to be able to tell how fast they're moving. Isaac stops the hushed conversation with the woman who had spoken earlier and grants Cat with a sympathetic smile. “Somewhere safe. It won't take much longer.”

Mickey can't hear any of the sounds outside of the car, but he has a feeling that no matter where they go, they wouldn't stop. He doesn't yet know what to think about all of it, which is why, despite the almost painful curiosity, he decides to wait for their answers.

When the truck stops a few minutes later, they get out and find themselves standing in front of a regular building, an old house, maybe. It seems uninhabited and empty but the sounds feel distant now, as if they have left them behind.

“Let's go,” Isaac motions towards the house and leads them up, then through the few halls and into a huge and almost empty room, just like the rest of the house has been – except for the people inside who all turn towards them as they walk in.

Mickey's glance passes by the people standing in odd groups, scattered across the room until he catches a glimpse of familiarity in the sea of faces. Ian looks pale and his eyes are bloodshot, his eyebrows still drawn into a scowl even after he stops what seems to be an argument with an older woman standing with her back towards them. But then he looks up and his eyes immediately find Mickey's, and without a second of hesitation, he starts walking towards them.

Mickey tries to smile at Ian when he's just out of his reach, but his lips are shaking and he doesn't know whether it's the relief or the exhaustion but it takes every last ounce of his power not to fall into his arms.

“Are you okay?” Ian asks quietly, putting his ice-cold palm onto Mickey's neck and pressing their foreheads together, making it difficult for Mickey to look into his eyes. He holds onto Ian's hand and it's what keeps him from falling down in that moment, it has to be. He burrows his face in his neck and takes in a shaky breath, not a care in the world about how vulnerable he must look right now. There are so many questions to be answered and he needs to deal with all of it, but he needs this. He needs Ian.

When they let go, he starts recognizing the voices, noticing that Ian is talking to Andrew now but not registering the words. Some of the people must have left, leaving only them and Isaac's group, along with a couple of people in overalls who seem pretty ridiculous in the setting.

They move towards the few stools and chairs grouped in the corner that he hadn't noticed before and he sighs out in relief when he can finally stop worrying about falling over. Ian is right by his side and now that he can think a little bit straighter, he can't stop the questions swirling around his mind.

“What happened?” he asks, not knowing how else to begin. Cat glances at Ian in expectation and though he can't see Andrew, he supposes they all look just as desperate.

Ian sighs with a smile, just a small curl of his lips, but it gives Mickey more hope than anything else ever could.

“There's a lot of it, but the most important thing is… we did it. It worked,” Ian says, squeezing Mickey's hand just a little bit tighter.

“But how?” Andrew asks with a frown, “What's happening outside, then? Where are the Protectors?”

“Some of them have run away,” Isaac steps in, “but the majority is under arrest. What you saw outside is the aftermath of a revolution.”

“But who arrested them?”

“We did,” the older woman speaks for the first time. She's all sharp edges and hard features, even her voice sounds like a just-sharpened blade. She stands up and steps towards their group, not quite smiling but her face softens when she says, “I know you must be confused right now. There is a lot you don't know. I know that you want answers, but all of you should have some rest before that. What I'll tell you now is that none of the things you were being told these last few years are true, and that we're sorry for not coming to your rescue earlier. Had we known… But that's all in the past. Now, you're truly free.”

It makes even less sense to Mickey than it did before, but he's too tired to care. Ian is still smiling and he hasn't let go of his hand since, and if he believes what this woman is saying, he isn't going to question it.

With the adrenaline slowly dying out in his veins, Mickey finds it a bit hard to keep up with his surroundings. He registers when Ian and the others stand up, following them up and then out of the room. It's probably not a long walk, but when he finally spots an unmade bed behind one of the doors, he can barely keep himself upright.

“Come on,” Ian mutters, pushing him forward lightly. “You need to sleep.”

His reply comes out as a content hum as soon as he falls onto the bed. There is still so much on his mind, so many things, but he's unable to keep up with his own thoughts. When he feels another source of heat crawl under the covers, he lets himself be drawn towards it, lets Ian's limbs encircle him like a cocoon and feels his own body go limp within seconds.

 

*

 

Mickey wakes up as he always does – his eyes snapping open, heart-rate increasing, his whole body ready to either fight or flight – though it's been getting better with Ian around. Having another body pressed against him in bed is a feeling he almost gave up on… He stops the thought right there. He's been doing good at avoiding thinking about him and it's necessary that he keeps it up until this whole mess is over.

It takes him a while to recognize the room, mostly because of how tired and unfocused he was when he fell asleep. The sight of it doesn't help him calm down immediately. The walls, the sheets, the curtains, the doors… All of it is white. It makes his head feel dizzy so he shuts his eyes when he confirms that Ian isn't lying there next to him. He sits up and moves to the end of the bed, holding his head in his hands to stop the spinning.

Then, he hears the sounds of someone approaching, which luckily gives him some time to compose himself before the door opens. He pushes the bile and the nausea down when Ian walks in with a sheepish smile, holding the door open.

“Morning,” he says softly, “hope you don't mind some company. They couldn't wait to meet you.”

Before he can do anything else but smile, two little humans walk in after Ian, both of them staring at him with the same set of wide, brown eyes.

“Ian said you were called Mickey,” the girls says in a hushed whisper, stepping closer towards him, “is that even a real name?”

Ian chuckles but leaves Mickey to it, who can't even remember the last time he's talked to a kid.

“Yep, definitely real.”

“How do you know?”

He glances up at Ian, completely clueless as of what he should say. Ian is still grinning which isn't helping at all.

“I don't know, actually,” he shrugs. “It could be made up. What's your name?”

“Amy,” she says hurriedly, then tugs at her brother's arm. “And this is Luke. Our names sound way more real than Mickey, though.”

He lets out a laugh then, unable to keep it in any longer. He almost forgets his own uneasiness at the sight of those kids, and Ian amongst them, looking happier than Mickey can remember him seeing.

Ian's eyes lock with Mickey's and his smile seems to grow even wider. Mickey finds it hard to look away, at least until he feels a weight dip the bed on his left. Luke is now sitting by his side, looking up at him intensely. He'd feel uncomfortable under such scrutiny under any other circumstances, but a small smile breaks out on his face when he sees the little frown between the boy's eyebrows, so similar to the one Ian often wears.

“What's up, little man?” he asks, trying to soften his voice a bit so that he doesn't startle the kids.

Luke frowns, crossing his arms. “I'm tall for my age. Even taller than Amy, and she's thirteen minutes older than me. Ian says I'll grow up to be taller than him.”

“Really?” he exaggerates the surprise, “nothing wrong with being small, you know. Your uncle might be a giraffe but the rest of us don't smash our heads into doorframes all the time.”

“It happened once!” Ian scoffs, fighting back a smile. He takes Amy's hand and walks up to the bed, sitting on Mickey's other side while Amy goes up to Luke.

Ian smiles at him and leans in, whispering, “If it's too much, I can bring them by later.”

He shakes his head and takes Ian's hand into his, pressing slightly. “It's okay.”

And so they stay. Ian can't seem to shake off the smile and Mickey thinks he must look similar. He's never really had an opinion about kids in general, but he finds out that he truly doesn't mind spending time with Luke and Amy. They're Ian's family, after all. Family he was almost sure he'd lost. Seeing them reunited is hard to describe.

Despite that, he soon starts getting nervous again, be it the aftermath of all the stress he's been under lately, or the whiteness that started creeping back into his consciousness, or the still unanswered questions bubbling underneath… And Ian notices, of course. Mickey doesn't even register what he tells them, but soon he's walking them out, muttering something about Jess and her having prepared them some snacks.

Mickey takes in a shuddering breath in the moments when Ian is outside the door, but he's back within seconds, concern wiping the smile off his face. Mickey hates it, hates himself for causing that happiness to vanish even for a second.

“I'm good,” he utters, but it sounds fake even to his own ears.

“Mickey,” Ian says as he sits down next to him. “You don't have to pretend. I'm sorry for bringing them so soon, you must be… Fuck, I know you must be confused as hell. It was stupid, I'll take you to the others whenever you feel like it, I just wanted you to meet…”

He shuts him up with a kiss. It's over quickly, but Mickey intends to go back for more. “I'm glad you brought them, Ian. And yeah, I'm not okay, but I will be. I… I just need you to kiss me for a little longer, okay? Before we go out there,” he breathes out, hoping he's making some sort of sense. Ian's face is just inches from his own and his nod is barely there, but Mickey catches it before Ian closes the distance between their lips once again.

It's better than sleeping, because the thoughts haven't really stopped then. Mickey lets himself be held, lets himself be kissed like it's the last time they're allowed to do this.

And for a moment, there's just Ian. The world can wait a little longer.

“Mick?” Ian asks once they've pulled apart, once he's been holding him for fifty-eight inhales and exhales. “Talk to me?”

They're lying on their backs, Mickey more-or-less on Ian's chest, but he still finds it hard to find his voice. He doesn't even know why, it's not like he's been through some awful tragedy. Yet whenever he thinks about it, it gets…

“Can we change the sheets?” he asks after a while, not knowing how else to start. “It's the white. Reminds me of that place.”

Ian tenses up under him as he says, “I'm so sorry, Mickey. I'm sorry they put you there. Isaac told me where they found you.”

“I thought I was going to go crazy,” he whispers weakly. “Like if I let myself slip away, I might never fully wake up again.”

“That's what it's supposed to do, the room.” Ian's voice is filled with guilt, but Mickey is glad that he doesn't apologize again. He cards his fingers through Mickey's hair and says, “But you're here now. You're safe. And I won't let go of you again.”

“Okay,” he mumbles shakily, certain that if he said anything more, he might never stop the flood of words. And he needs Ian to say something, too.

“Since we began with the honest talk…” he starts, laying his head on the pillow next to Ian so that he can see his face. He tries to look for any trace of the panic and pain he's got so used to seeing, but he can't find any. “How are you really doing? Before we left, you were all…” He doesn't finish, but understanding flashes across Ian's face.

“I'm okay now,” Ian says after a while, his smile slowly reappearing. “There's no reason to feel miserable anymore. I've got the kids back, the war is over… I've got you. It's all going to be okay from now on.”

Mickey smiles despite the heaviness in his stomach.

“You'll tell me if that changes, right? Doesn't matter if we're all happy and settled and nothing is shit anymore… I want you to tell me if it gets bad again. You don't gotta deal with things alone.”

“Okay,” Ian says, looking around the room. “I was thinking blue for the sheets. What do you think? We won't be staying long, but it wouldn't hurt to make the place feel a little more like home.”

“All I'll see is gray, anyway,” Mickey chuckles out, amused.

Ian just shrugs instead of an answer, then looks at him with his eyebrows raised. “Ready to go and get some answers?”

“As ready as I'll ever be,” he sighs, leaning in for the final kiss.

 

*

 

When Ian leads Mickey back into the main room, his eyes instinctively start looking for Amy and Luke. He flashes Jess a smile when he spots her sitting on the ground with her legs crossed, teaching the two a card game. He plans on stopping by and thanking her again, but before he can do that, someone taps him firmly on the shoulder.

“We don't have much time.” Catherine is looking at him sternly and he bites his tongue before he can remind her that none of them is getting out of there anytime soon.

He nods, glancing at Mickey by his side. “Catherine, Mickey. I believe you hadn't had the chance to introduce…”

“Yes, yes, it's a pleasure. Now come on, please.” She turns around sharply and leads them to the right and down the short hall where Andrew and Cat are already waiting, Cat having abandoned the coffee he's brought before and Andrew clutching his as if it were a lifeline.

He offers them each a smile while the two of them sit down, ignoring the shiver it sends down his spine when they barely meet his eyes.

Mickey seems to be doing better now, but he's still squeezing his hand a bit too tightly to be comfortable. Catherine is eyeing them all with cold distance, something Ian tries not to blame her for, knowing it's important that she stays calm and collected.

“Where's Isaac?” Ian asks her, having expected him to be there. “I thought he had a few things to say himself.”

“We sent him out there with Rodriguez since Jennings is… occupied.” She shoots a glance at Jess and the kids, then looks back at Ian who tries really hard not to lose his nerves.

“Anyway,” Catherine says, “I believe we've got some explaining to do. Before we dig into the past, let me tell you who we are and how we got here.” She pulls out the small remote and turns on the screen at the end of the hall, causing them all to turn their eyes to there. A logo appears – two hands turned upwards, with broken chains lying underneath them.

“The organization which saved you,” she says, “is called The Union. I, along with my colleagues are here to represent its interests, as well as help this broken country's residents find peace again.”

Ian wishes she would just cut the bullshit and go straight to the point. His friends are shaken and confused and they need answers more than anything. Before he can speak up, a sudden noise by the entrance catches his attention.

Isaac, Marla and Adam are striking through the room, all of them in full gear and still armed. Isaac smiles his way before greeting Catherine with a nod. She ignores him completely, though her lips turn into even a thinner line. “As I was saying,” she continues, “The Union wishes nothing more than to change your lives for the better. What has been passing as leadership in this country for the last few years shocked us, and luckily, we have taken matters into our own hands. These people, this… organization who called themselves the Protectors are no longer in charge. We got a hold of their leaders and you will soon be able to fly with us to Europe. Those who decide to stay are welcome to do so, of course, but there will be some changes happening here – to the better, of course.”

“No offence,” Andrew grits out through his teeth. He seems tired, more than Ian could remember him seeing. “but this all reminds me a little too much of that bullshit propaganda that the Protectors flooded us with at the beginning of all this. You all act like saviours and it's making me fucking sick. How do we know you're the good guys? That we won't be signing up for a different kind of dictatorship, the only difference being the continent and the fucking logo?” he points at the ridiculous thing and shakes his head.

Catherine, for all her faults, doesn't seem fazed at all. She even offers Andrew a small smile, something Ian has only seen her do once before.

“You're not obliged to trust us,” she says, kinder this time. “But you're not signing up for anything. There's no catch in this transaction. We are giving you freedom and what we want in return is that you rebuild this country into something better. So that no other generation has to experience what you had to put up with.”

Andrew doesn't react further, and so Catherine continues. “Agent Mann, since you joined us after all, would you like to explain your involvement in our case?”

Isaac rolls his eyes at the formality, not even attempting to hide it from Catherine and Ian swears he could see her smirk for a second before his eyes turn to Isaac.

“Of course,” he says. “As you probably know by now, me and a few others have been operating against the Protectors from within. In these last few weeks, we have made some huge discoveries, but they were mostly just guesses in the dark. When your group broke into The Central, you confirmed our speculations.”

“What Jackson and I discovered,” Ian adds in quickly.

“Yes. Trying to leak the information was a clever idea,” she admits, “but while doing that, you also managed to contact us. The Protectors have known about us, of course. They've been watching us closely, all the while managing to stay completely off our radars. But once you've exposed them, we could finally step in and end this madness. Now, listen to me,” she says, her eyes following each of the three. “They've been lying to you. Ever since the start. There is no natural disaster going on. It is not the God's revenge, nor the Earth's. It's simply a huge, monstrous lie meant to control you.”

Hearing it for the second time is no better than the first. Ian still gets that bittersweet feeling, the desperate wish to believe which gets soon replaced by doubt. But he knows it's true.

“What the hell are you saying?!” Mickey spits out with no warning, and he looks so much like himself that Ian finds it hard not to smile, despite the mess of emotions playing on Mickey's face.

“There's no easy way to put this,” she says. “The Protectors have been around since way back. They had people in the government, the military, all the important places and positions. They'd been waiting for years for an opportunity to come, and once it did, they decided to isolate the country. Manipulate the people within so that they wouldn't leave, and cut the rest of the world off completely, leaving us clueless about what was happening inside.”

“But the attacks… “

“Weren't real. The time shifts, the colors disappearing… All of it was an orchestrated effect of the drugs they put you on. The food you eat, the water you drink. They spread it everywhere. It was their way of determining which ones of you would be immune. All of you who weren't would have, had we not stopped them, turned into a perfect army of mind-controlled, brain-washed followers. We have no information about what they wanted to use the army for just yet, but we're working on it.”

It takes another hour or so for Catherine, Isaac and eventually a few others to explain everything, and Ian could eventually see it all sink in for his friends. Like Catherine said, there is no easing into it. They have been lied to, terribly so, and the only reason they're not losing their minds over it just yet is probably the shock.

Ian can feel himself wavering on the edge, barely balancing out all the emotions swirling just below the surface. It's all too much, of course, but for this fucking once, he can't allow himself to be weak. He won't. They all need to pull through this, get back to their friends and figure out what to do next.

What is the logical next step when you find out you've been living a lie this whole time?

By the end of the day, Cat, Andrew and Mickey all seem to be doing a lot better. It's as if the fog has started to dissolve, allowing them to think clearly after spending days underwater. Ian knows the feeling all too well, and he wishes he could help, but there's literally nothing he can do.

The one thing that really makes him feel grateful for all this is the fact that he got to reunite with Amy and Luke. Sure, meeting Isaac and Jess and Adam was great, too, but he's long since cut himself off from that part of his life. They caught up on stuff, but really, there wasn't much to talk about, apart from the revolution.

And so every second he does not spend working with Catherine and the others, he finds himself drifting back to his family. The kids haven't yet brought Fiona up, and he's too much of a pussy to start the talk himself. It'll have to happen eventually, but he has no idea how kids this age deal with such tragedies. He's been dealing with it badly enough, but her own kids? Both orphans, with no other family to speak of but himself. At times like these, he wishes he could have his siblings by his side. Being back in the city reminds him of them so much, especially when he gets to go outside and walks down the streets he's never been to, but could swear he's strolled down a hundred times before. At first, it was dangerous to go outside, but when the date hits a week from the arrival of The Union, it slowly starts feeling like peace. Ian still finds it strange to see people hovering on the streets, visibly trying to create some sort of normalcy but failing, because none of it feels normal anymore.

“Not that much has changed, when you think about it,” Mickey announces as they're walking down the deserted street, handing the cigarette back and forth and desperately trying to savour it since it's their last pack, and Ian isn't sure whether he could pressure Adam into getting more.

“What do you mean?”

Mickey shrugs, taking a slow drag and lazily breathing out the smoke. “There are still soldiers walking around with their guns out, except that now they're there for our _protection_. See where I'm going with this?”

“Yeah but,” he shakes his head, frowning, “It's not the same. We gotta believe that, Mick. It's going to be hard, starting normal life again from scratch, but it's happening.”

“So what now? Where do we go from here? Once we get back, we won't have to hide anymore. We could just… fucking pack up and leave, find a fucking place, start over. It's just… I can't imagine it. Never thought I'd have to think about any of that.”

It's right there, on the tip of his tongue, but Ian doesn't ask. Not because he's afraid of what Mickey might say, but because he's not sure whether either of them is ready to think that much forward. To change their lives so abruptly, so soon after barely putting themselves back together.

“I think I'll go back to Chicago,” Ian says at last. “To look for my siblings, find out if they're still alive. After that… I dunno. I don't want to just leave it all behind, this life. And the thought of flying the country fucking _terrifies_ me, but at the same time, I keep thinking about what's it like over there.”

“Me too,” Mickey admits. “Been wondering about going back there at some point, too. It's where I started and, as much as I was thrilled to leave the place, I think it's the only way to truly start over. Go back first, then decide what to do next.”

Mickey glances at him sheepishly, returning the cigarette and rubbing his lip. When Ian concludes that Mickey won't be saying anything, he dumps the cigarette butt and lets his fingers slide between Mickey's while saying, “I don't want to leave you behind, Mickey.”

The soft smile that appears on Mickey's face is answer enough, and when it doesn't wipe off even after they walk down another block, Ian feels like maybe they'll work things out in the end.

“Look,” Mickey says, tugging at his hand and nodding towards the deserted drive-in on their left, the only sign of its former purpose being the knocked-down sign and a few rusty cars in the very back. “How come they haven't trashed the place?”

Ian shrugs, looking around with a dim sense of nostalgia. He's never been to a drive-in in his life, but something about the place so obviously from before makes him feel homesick.

“No idea. Wanna look around?” he asks, stepping forward when Mickey half-shrugs, half-nods. They make their way to one of the cars, laughing at its poor state, yet not hesitating to climb into the cabriolet and half-expecting other people to be there, too, watching some shitty movie and not giving a fuck about the rest of the world.

“You think it's ever gonna be like before?”

“Probably not,” Ian admits, leaning back into the seat. “I don't really know what to do, now that we've basically won. It was the reason I stayed, the reason I… kept going. And fuck, its',” he laughs, the sound borderline hysterical, “There's the kids now, too, and I have no fucking clue what I'm doing. How do you just become a parent overnight? I mean... They haven't even talked about their mom yet and if they do, I'm afraid I'll just colossally fuck up.” It's more honest than he intended, but it's becoming easier to forget the filter when he's around Mickey.

“Ian, I mean it when I say that you've got this. I know fuck all about raising a kid, but having grown with the parents we have? As far as I'm concerned, the best you can do is love them. And your heart is bigger than the fucking Pacific Ocean so I think you're good. You'll figure out the rest, and you won't have to do it on your own.”

It's just like that one time; all he can see is the blue of Mickey's eyes, so open and honest and not at all fake and for the millionth time he wonders, what did he do to deserve someone like Mickey caring for him? When, in between his constant fuck-ups had he tilted his life-path into Mickey's direction?

“Okay,” he says, and he hopes he could say more. But Mickey understands – he is sure of it, because he looks at him like they've known each other for years, like their life paths have always been meant to cross, like a future together is not this unimaginable concept, too blurry and abstract to actually grasp and bring into reality.

Having any future at all used to be that, too.

They've got a whole day to kill, and even though Ian is itching to go back home, to finally get on the road so that he can stop worrying about the people they've left behind, he savours each and every moment like this one, when the world is just about to rebuild itself from the ruins, and each new days feels like a bubble, frozen in time. And the minutes – the hours the seconds the days – he spends kissing Mickey in that rusty car, surrounded by faded out memories of the days before, remind him that no matter how many places he's lived at and how many people he's met and let go of, all he need to do to feel at home is feel Mickey's breath on his cheeks as he leans in to steal yet another kiss.

 

*

 

The cars are completely dark on the inside and had it not been for the panicked breathing of her friends and the distant sound of wheels, she would have thought she's alone.

It takes long, too, but maybe her mind is playing tricks on her. Maybe they haven't driven that far at all, or they drove in circles to confuse them, but either way, the landscape is pretty much the same when the truck door opens suddenly and the soldiers rush them out.

Leslie has no idea where they are, none of them have, but the soldiers won't talk to them, apart from the occasional orders. They haven't even attempted to get more information, which is confusing as hell, because isn't that why they've captured them instead of killing them on the spot?

They haven't seen Brian yet. They spend the first night in a small, damp room, neither of them taking advantage of the few blankets and actually sleeping on the cold, tile floor. There have to be people guarding them right outside the room, but no one storms in when they start talking, which is why they keep it up for the majority of the night. Mandy and Karen make sure to consider all their options of getting out of there, however small their chances are, if only to lighten the misery settling inside each one of them. Leslie is grateful that the two try to keep them going – the following days would be unbearable otherwise.

She tries to keep an eye on Ruby since Gareth had passed out on the first night and has been keeping away from them ever since – as away as you can get in a room the size of a dorm room. He's been shivering constantly and whenever his eyes catch Leslie's, all she can see is desperation. Ruby gives up trying to talk to him after the first day, but she doesn't cry when Gareth completely ignores her. Somehow, she seems like she can understand, which makes Leslie almost as furious as the situation they somehow appeared in.

With Brian and Walt gone and Gareth barely present, it's just her, Mandy, Iggy, Gina, Karen and Ruby, and with each passing day she feels more and more hopeless.

Where is everyone? Why haven't they returned yet? And what if they had and found the shelter empty? What if they never will, because they failed?

“Why are you keeping us here?” Gina snarls at the man who brings them food, but he doesn't even glance her way. None of them do. It's pointless, each new days feels like the one before and _there's no fucking point_.

“We gotta get out of here,” Mandy whispers in the middle of the night, but there is no answer, even though neither of them are asleep.

Leslie pushes the hair out of Ruby's face, watching her chest raise and fall as she sleeps deeply. There is a reason they keep fighting. If nothing else, Ruby deserves a chance to have a life. They can't just give up.

It's just like Andrew said. She could give in to the hopelessness, so, so easily… But one look at her family reminds her that she's already chosen.

“They can't keep us in here forever,” she mutters into the night, catching Mandy's attention immediately, her big eyes glistening in the dark. “They have to want something, and once we find out what, we'll come up with a plan. We always do. That's what you do as a survivor.”

It doesn't feel like it's her speaking, but maybe she's had enough of being a coward. They have to toughen up and pull through this, like they have through everything else.

This can't be the end. Not yet.

 

 

 


	9. A house of white noise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mandy looks both murderous and absolutely terrified.
> 
> She's fast, but it wasn't enough. Her little frame seems even smaller behind the enormous wheel, and Leslie wonders whether she's ever seen her drive before. The thought is intrusive, eating away at her brain while the quiet creeps up their spines.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually did it. Took me long enough, I know, but I'm back to writing this story and I'm not going to leave it unfinished. Everything is already outlined and there's not much left to be told, I just have to put it together. Thank you, to all of you reading this. You're the very best xx

 

 

_If you squint your eyes, the streetlights become hundreds of ghosts going home._

 

_*_

 

Being on the road after weeks of staying behind and doing nothing feels liberating. He's been bubbling with this energy, this urge to make things come full circle. Because yes, Mickey is just as dumbfounded by the post-revolution world as everyone else, but seeing things change and move on makes it even harder to think about those at home.

It's been eating away at his mind, the intrusive thoughts about how they might not even know anything's changed, how they might think they had died or were defeated. How they may have lost hope already. He can see the thoughts in Andrew's lifeless eyes, in Cat's quirks and ticks and avoidance of all eye contact, in the absence of jokes and stupid remarks in Jackson's speech that's been driving him crazy… In Ian's bloodshot eyes after yet another sleepless night.

They needed to get moving, badly, and when Catherine's people finally gave them a nod, breathing finally became somewhat easier for the four of them.

“Why are we stopping?” Mickey asks sharply, annoyance seeping into his voice when he sees the car slowing down. The driver ignores him and pulls the car over near a shitty gas station, then urges them to get out.

The other two cars stop right behind them and the Union's forces are out in a blink of an eye, guns casually by their side as they eye the place. Catherine insisted on soldiers accompanying them and sure, it feels nice not to worry about their necks all the time, but the whole situation reminds him a bit too much of the world before.

“Hey!” he growls, grabbing one of them by the shoulder as he tries to walk past their group. “The fuck are we doing here?”

The man pulls his arm away angrily, but at least he responds.

“This is a secret information center which we used to communicate with people in this area. We're leaving a message for them.”

“Why would you have to do it in secret?” he asks, confused.

“The revolution doesn't happen overnight. Catherine may have been sugarcoating the truth a bit. The Protectors may be defeated, but many of them are still out there. Many of them have blended in. We don't know who we can trust.”

With that, the man walks away and disappears inside the station.

“I'm not even shocked anymore,” Andrew shrugs, leaning against the car. “Honesty is a luxury these days.”

“She's a smug bitch,” Cat scoffs. “Didn't want us to see that they haven't succeeded just yet.”

Mickey mutters something in agreement, but his gaze lingers on Ian who stayed in the car with the kids who have, luckily, slept through the majority of the journey. They make eye-contact and Ian smiles softly.

Soon, the men return and once they're back on the road again, Mickey lets himself doze off as well.

There are a couple more stops along the way, but neither Mickey nor Ian gets out of the car. It feels like they just can't get there soon enough. Mickey's been thinking about Lana a lot - he's spoken to Andrew a bit about what kind of approach they should settle for, but in the end, they couldn't come up with anything to ensure Vladimir will listen.

“It's gonna be fine,” Ian mutters after another fifteen minutes of scowling and silence, careful not to wake up Luke who's curled up on his lap and snoring quietly. Amy can barely stay calm for two minutes at a time, so he let her lean all the way to the front of the car, smirking a bit when he heard the very audible sigh after the stream of questions meant for the two agents.

He carefully mends his expression into a reassuring smile, and Mickey nods once, letting the words seep in.

“I'm just happy to be going' back.”

“Me too.”

Amy turns around then, her eyes jumping from one to the other until she settles on Mickey.

“Are there any kids back where we're going?”

“Uh… yeah. There's this girl, Ruby. Think she's about your age.” Honestly, he doesn't really know how old Ruby is, but judging from the similar height of the two, he thinks it's close enough.

“Good,” she says, finally sitting down between her brother and Mickey. He notices her looking at Luke and is almost sure that she's thinking about pranking him somehow, just like Mandy would, but he's pulled out of the nostalgic train of thought when Amy speaks.

“Is everyone else dead?”

The question is not meant for him. Ian looks startled for a second, but he's good at this. He looks down at her with a serene expression, the panic in his eyes only visible because he knew it'd be there.

Ian settles for the truth. “I don't know.”

Amy nods like she expected this answer. She looks so much like a grown up then, it sickens Mickey.

“When this is over…” he says, taking her tiny hand into his, “we can go back and look. Find out what happened.”

“I'd like that. Luke, too, though he won't say. He's… He won't…” Her lip trembles and Mickey fights the urge to grip her in a crushing bear hug, to tell her it was all a bad fucking nightmare, that she's safe now. It overwhelms him how much he wants to protect these kids.

“What is it?” Ian asks gently, the worry more evident on his face now.

“He doesn't talk about mom,” she says at last. “I _miss_ her. But h-he just… He acts like she'll be waiting for us, somewhere, and he wouldn't let me talk about her, ever since…” She swallows the sob and tries to wipe off the tears, and Mickey just can't do it anymore. Ian is telling her something, crushing her hand in his and she keeps pushing down the cries which unnerves him more than the fact that she's crying.

Carefully, he caresses her hair, thinking of what to say when she looks up at him in shock. His throat is as dry as the desert surrounding them and he wishes he hadn't interfered, but after a couple more seconds of seeing him struggle, she reaches out with a question in her eyes, and the second he opens his arms, she crawls up to him, burying her head in his shirt and crying quietly. He feels a bit awkward but ignores it for the sake of this child. She needs comfort and safety and he can give her that, he'll damn well try.

Mickey looks up at Ian after a while and sees his eyes glisten with tears. He reaches out his hand, palm up, and Ian takes it.

They don't move for the rest of the drive.

 

*

 

It's the last stop before the Market.

Mickey and Andrew chain-smoke the rest of the cigarettes on top of an abandoned car someone left in the ditch, the setting sun in their eyes, and it almost feels like a normal road trip then – mostly because they can't see the unionists from there.

Ian's discussing something with Ayla, who is actually treating them like human beings instead of a package to be delivered, and they seemed to click right away. Then again, Ian clicks with almost everyone.

“Have you thought about what you'll do once we get back?” Andrew asks all of a sudden, breaking the enjoyable silence. They're finishing the last one, passing it back and front until Mickey breathes in deeply and feels the taste of filter on his tongue, which is when he stomps the cigarette with his foot.

“Not really,” he replies after a long while. “Maybe go back to Chicago. Dunno whether Mandy or Iggy have any other plans.” He shrugs as if it didn't matter, but the truth is, the thought of separating from his siblings terrifies him. They've been through hell and back and they never left each other's sides. Just like Ian and the kids – they come as a family package. “And you? Wanna go back to that shithole?”

Andrew snorts, shaking his head. “You know I'd rather eat glass. But I thought about going with Lee, if she'd agree. She thinks her sister might be still alive, wants to look for her in Canada. I really need to get away from this heat, anyway.”

It only takes them about twenty minutes to get to the Market. The place looks exactly the same, and Mickey wonders whether the news even got to Vladimir… But the man's got spies – good ones, too. If anyone, he'd definitely be a step ahead of them.

“How many men are there?” The unionist in the passenger seat asks, carefully sizing up the building as they pull over right behind the first car.

Mickey counts in his head, but then Ian speaks. “There were 9 of them the last time, plus Lana, of course. Not sure whether it was everyone.”

The man nods and opens the door. “Let's get going then.”

Mickey forgets about being nervous up until the knock on the door. His stomach tangles up and he braces himself as the door open wide, Vladimir's usual welcoming party aiming at their heads.

Before they can say anything, Alexei pushes through them and looks their group up and down, taking in the number of men and the guns which, currently, aim at the ground. It's eight of them, total, but Mickey has no way to tell how many people are inside. He starts sweating.

“Where's Vladimir?” he manages to snap out after a lot more staring, trying not to lose his nerves in anger.

“You broke the deal.”

After that, it's a mess. Men start pooling out from behind Alexei who smirks slightly as he lifts his own gun – which is when the unionists start firing.

Mickey instinctively dodges to the ground, relieved to realize that the rest of them did the same – neither of them is armed, which, now that he thinks about it, was the stupidest thing they could have done. Thank god the kids stayed in the car. He hoped they can't see what's happening – but the gunshots are unmistakable.

“Fuck, fuck, we must get out of here!” Cat yells as a bullet barely misses her leg. The unionists are overpowered, and the Russians try their best to shoot at the five of them, crouching on the ground.

They can't just lay there like prey, goddamit!

Another couple of bullets, and a menace of a man falling on his knees beside them as Ayla shoots him in the back of his head. Within seconds, Ian's grabbing his gun and kicking him away, rising up from the ground and firing bullets one after another, hitting a guy in the face once he runs out. They follow in order, knowing fully well that they either fight or die, and neither of them is built for such a thing. Andrew doesn't get a hold of a gun, but he's fast, and after a while, it starts feeling like they're on the winning side.

Until Cat gets shot, twice, in a succession so quick, they barely register it.

She falls to her knees, gawking at the blood wetting her shirt, and Mickey almost gets shot as well when he freezes completely, only surviving thanks to one of their guys who basically shields him with his body and empties out his gun as he shoots the motherfucker over and over again. Three of them are dead, one is soon gonna be, and the rest have fled into the house.

“Lie down, it'll be okay,” the guy says as he helps Cat's head up, the other one ripping open her shirt and pulling out supplies.

Mickey can just watch as they attempt to save her life, knowing that her closed eyes are a bad sign. Ian is walking around helplessly and Andrew is by her side, trying not to get in the way. 

“We must get her to a hospital,” Ayla says as the two – Jonathan and Mitch – pack up their shit and stand up. “There is a place not too far away. We've got people there who can help her.”

“Well then take her there,” he barks out roughly, not enjoying the sight of Cat laying down on the ground as if she's already dead.

“Mitch will drive her, but the rest of us will stay. We still have a mission. Trust me, she'll be in good hands.”

“I'll go with,” Jackson mutters quickly, and nobody protests.

It's over so soon Mickey doesn't know what to think. He doesn't believe that everything is as fine as Ayla says, not at all. She got shot in the chest, twice. People don't just walk away after that.

They go back to the cars, knowing it'd be stupid to attack the house now. Mickey feels like a zombie. The kids are scared, and Ian consoles them the best he can, but it's not enough. It seems like he's this close to losing it himself. Andrew disappeared the second Mitch left with Cat and didn't return until it was dark outside.

They don't mention the screaming.

“I suggest we find a spot to spend the night,” Victor says calmly. He looks like a machine. The others had at least turned human when Cat got shot, but this guy just seems emotionless. Mickey fights the urge to knock him down.  “It's the best we can do. We'll call for backup and attack full force.”

“What if she's not here.”

It's not a question. Both Ian and Andrew look pained because they've been thinking about it too. Why didn't Vladimir join the fight?

“We'll find out once we kill them,” Victor says matter-of-factly, as if the chance of endangering Lana meant as little to him as the bug he steps on, just for fun.

They're reluctant to fall asleep, even a couple miles away from the Market, with all three of the unionists on guard.

Amy and Luke are asleep in the backseat, tear paths drying on their faces. Ian watches them from outside the car with a blank expression, but eventually, he joins Mickey and Andrew on the ground.

Mickey has all these words trying to break the surface. It's a miracle he doesn't start blabbering, but he knows he'd never stop, and he's afraid of what he might say.

Without even saying a word, they fall into a kind of slumber – half awake, half dreaming, though it's nothing but death and fear filling their minds.

Which is why Mickey doesn't stir awake right away when he hears it.

“What is it?” Ian whispers hurriedly, searching for a gun immediately, which is when Mickey recognizes the sound. Running. Someone is running towards them from the woods.

They're up within seconds, the unionists standing in front of them with their guns ready.

“… me, it's me, not shoot, it's…”

Mickey breathes out too fast and it feels like the wind's been knocked out of him. They put their guns down immediately, and Andrew runs towards her, crushing her in a hug.

“Lana,” Mickey says, barely audible. She looks awful. Skinny and haunted and much, much smaller than he ever thought she could be. Almost like a child. His eyes shoot to her flat stomach.

“Are you alright? Did you escape?” Andrew holds her at arm's length, looking her up and down multiple times as she says, “Yes. I have been running for two days. But he followed me, chased me, I…”

He hugs her next, scanning the woods frantically and expecting Vladimir's dashing smile to appear any second.

“My name's Ayla. We'll keep you safe, alright? Just…” 

A loud sound resonates in the night. Mickey turns around instinctively, his eyes widening at the sight of a truck on the road behind them, that familiar smile blazing at him from the back window… The rifle sticking out. They're gone before he can blink - Victor's bullets barely slowing them down.

He doesn't want to turn around. He can't.

Ian tugs at his sleeve. His mouth is wide open. He could be screaming.

Mickey braces himself and turns around, falling to his knees as soon as he sees all that blood. It got to his shoes and soaked his jeans. It's spilling out of her mouth as she chokes, her neck more a wound than skin.

It takes less than two minutes.

“We have to go, Mickey. Now. They found something in the house. _Mick_ ,” Ian pleads, obviously fighting the urge to drag him up by force. Mickey's not one to mourn openly. He knows it's irrational to not want to let go of her body.

It doesn't help.

“Yeah, okay,” he says, acting like he finally got a grip on himself. “The others?”

“They're waiting for us. Victor's in the car.”

They take her body, too. It's a short drive but it's almost like she's already rotting, like the live version of her is a distant memory. Mickey tries not to think about it too much.

He tries not to think at all.

 

…

 

“You two go ahead,” Victor mutters as he turns off the engine, his eyes finding Ian's in the rearview mirror. “I'll take care of it.”

He nods and jumps out of the car, tightly following Mickey who's basically running to the front door. “Hey,” he says, catching him last second before he opens the door, but Mickey shakes him off.

“Not now.”

They enter, still a bit cautious at first, but then Ian hears the mix of voices coming from their right. They're spitting curses and not keeping it quiet, the urge to join in arises, but he shakes it off and walks deeper into the house.

Mickey is the first in the room, scanning it as he would have, their eyes rising up to them as they walk in.

“So what did you find?”

While most of them exchange hesitant glances, Ayla responds. “Nothing that matters now. Are you guys okay? Any wounds?”

Ian shakes his head, but Mickey just keeps on staring. “I'm not gonna ask again. What is it?!”

“Just some pictures,” Andrew growls, “we'll burn them. No fucking need to look at them. I wish I hadn't.”

Hesitant because of the former rejection, Ian lays a hand on Mickey's shoulder gently, relieved when he doesn't pull away. “He's right. It's not gonna change anything.”

To his surprise, Mickey doesn't fight him. His shoulders tense up and he starts breathing faster, suddenly unsure what to do without a clear purpose.

“Have you guys searched the house yet?”

And so they all start digging, all except for Victor and Jonathan who cleaned up the blood from Lana's body and are now trying to put her in the trunk with some dignity. It was unspoken that they'd drive her back home and bury her with the others, not in this awful place. It's all they can do for her.

Mickey engrosses himself in the work and, though he participates just as much, Ian leaves after a little while to thank the two men and, frankly, allow himself to collapse just a little bit. Because he can't be weak now. He won't.

He also checks on Ayla and the kids, knowing that he's failing at the whole parenting thing more than he thought possible. They're scared, rightfully so, but he doesn't want to lie to them. Ayla does so instead.

“You'll be okay, I promise. Everything will be alright, we'll make sure of that.”

It's barely been a few minutes when something goes wrong.

It's like an instinct, an indescribable sensation in the back of his head that goes all the way down his spine, sending tremors to his nerve endings; then he hears it.

A gunshot.

Ian doesn't stop and think. He just runs, almost colliding with Andrew once he's passed the doors, the momentary eye contact unyielding the panic.

It takes so short to get to the back of the house, barely seconds have passed since the gunshot, but it feels like his legs are jelly, like he's unable to speed up. They see it immediately: A stranger is lying face-down on the floor, his arm curled at a weird angle, Mickey's foot between his shoulder blades holding him down.

Ian finally breathes.

Mickey kicks the guy as he attempts to get up and stomps on his neck, choking him. Ian steps forward and they force the bastard to sit up, tying his hands behind his back with a belt, ignoring the shriek of pain he lets out when they touch the injured hand. If anything, Ian just pulls harder.

“You alright?” he asks, scanning Mickey for injuries, but he just nods, dismissing it.

“Yeah, found the bastard in the closet, hiding like a little coward. Pretended he doesn't speak English, then he pulls out a fucking gun.”

Ian's brows furrow as he glances at the man again, forcing his mind to stop replaying the other possible scenarios in which he didn't miss. He seems young, but it's hard to tell – his face is all crumpled up as he's spitting curses at them, throwing in a plea every now and then. _Pathetic_ , is the word that crosses his mind.

“Step back.”

They turn around. Andrew is still standing in the doorway, his gun drawn and pointing at the guy on the floor. Ian stands up immediately, and Mickey follows.

“You wanna ask him something, ask now.” His voice is stone cold. Hand with the gun not shaking a bit. Ian knows he means it, and he feels little to no urge to stop him. He wants the fucker dead. All of them.

“Do you know where they are?” Mickey asks after a while, impaling the guy with his gaze.

“Not gonna tell you shit,” he replies, his eyes wide open and filled with fear. Mickey shrugs and nods at Andrew. “Wait, wait! Fuck, you…”

Mickey walks up to him, leans down and says. “You've got two options. Tell us what you know and we'll get you a clean death. Keep quiet, and you'll be praying to have chosen the first one.”

“I don't know nothing. The plan was different, you should have been dead. He shouldn't have run off like a coward. We didn't count on…”

He babbles on and on, visibly getting more and more panicked. It's like watching a caged animal. It's vicious. Ian doesn't thrive in violence – he despises it. But watching this man squirm and plead makes him feel good. He almost wishes he was the one aiming at his head, not Andrew.

It's quick after that. Mickey gets up and backs off. The guy's eyes widen even more. Andrew pulls the trigger.

It's over.

 

…

 

Mandy looks both murderous and absolutely terrified.

She's fast, but it wasn't enough. Her little frame seems even smaller behind the enormous wheel, and Leslie wonders whether she's ever seen her drive before. The thought is intrusive, eating away at her brain while the quiet creeps up their spines.

It's been almost an hour. Ruby is panicking, the little gasps coming out of her mouth ever so often causing Leslie to flinch every time. She's glad Gina's with her. Neither she nor Iggy could do much else besides stare at the road.

At some point, tears start falling down Mandy's pain-ridden face, but she doesn't make a sound. The car starts moving even faster, and for the first time, another car passes by them.

They have no idea where they are, no clue how to get anywhere. It's just the road, the fear, the panic and the… She can't even look at it.

“...Stop! Mandy!” Gina's voice is high-pitched and desperate because Mandy doesn't seem to notice. That's when Leslie sees what's wrong - Ruby's whole body is trembling as she struggles to gasp for breath, Gina's panicked attempts to help her probably making it even worse. 

It gets them moving, finally. Leslie's with her in a second, sitting her up while Iggy gets Mandy to pull over. They kick open the back door and she carries Ruby outside, sitting her down on the curb and trying to calm her down, knowing that there's no other way to help. She's having a full-blown panic attack and, honestly, Leslie is not too far from one herself.

“Try, okay? With me. In and out, yes, you're doing good. Look at me. Look at me…” She makes sure the body is out of Ruby's line of sight. It takes a while, but eventually, she calms down enough to start breathing normally, and bursts into tears.

They all end up sitting down by the road. The need to run is slowly dying out. If they catch them now, at least they'd tried. Neither of them has enough will left to do more.

It went down so fucking fast.

Walt bursting into their room, along with two other Protectors. Iggy reacted immediately, lashing out at him, but to their surprise, Walt let him. Iggy landed a punch and only then did the other two pull him away. That's when Walt told them, in hushed whispers, that it'll be over soon. That he's got a plan. That he's sorry.

Leslie glances at Iggy, the guilt embedded into his features. Will it ever go away?

After that, Walt disappeared, too afraid to seem suspicious, but the Protectors stayed. It seemed surreal that they'd betray their own, but it didn't take much to get them to believe Walt. Ian was a living proof that it's possible.

Ben and the woman whose name she never learned explained to them what was gonna happen. Walt would interrupt the meeting with false information, hopefully holding their attention for long enough to give them some time to escape. They only had one shot. It was risky, it was near impossible, but they were damn well gonna try.

But they were too slow. Too tired after days of wasting away on the stone-cold floor. Too hopeless to fight for their lives as hard as they should have.

They killed Karen first. She didn't fight, but she was in their way. The woman was trying to drag her to the car, but they killed her as well. The adrenaline hit in and they kept moving, jumping into the one functional car (Walt took care of the rest) and ready to move.

They almost made it out. Gareth was helping Ruby get in. Then Gina. Ben tried to get him to go in, but he refused. The bullets flew through their bodies like they were butter, Gareth falling down immediately while Ben fell face-down into the van. There wasn't enough time.

 

“But we did make it. We did.” Mandy's screaming. It doesn't matter who hears. “We need to keep moving. I know you don't see the point, but we have to. They didn't fucking die for nothing!”

It was Iggy who said that there was no point in driving on. That they should just stay there, maybe.

Leslie's never been happier for Mandy's fierce nature.

 

Half a day later, they're still alive.

 

In two days' time, it's inevitable that they stop, somewhere. She can't remember the last time she's eaten – or slept, for that matter. Ruby's not doing so good and Iggy's falling asleep behind the wheel.

They pull over by an abandoned convenience store, wishing the car was a bit less loud. It's the first city they didn't try to avoid and, as expected, it's completely vacant. They were moving further and further south, hoping to bump into something familiar to show them the way. 

The thing that finally stopped them was nothing like they had expected.

“Are those…?” She utters chokingly.

Nobody replies. Iggy slows down a bit, gawking at the streets with a look of sheer panic in his eyes, like he's dreaming. Leslie isn't so sure they aren't.

“It's people. Just people. Not Protectors, not soldiers… it's like they don't even fucking see us!”

As soon as the car stops, Iggy jumps out, pulsing with the need to make sure it's all real. He bumps into a person, then another one. By the time the others have joined him, he's halfway considering hugging these strangers.

Slowly, they start walking in the general direction the rest of the people seem to be moving towards – the biggest mass of people either of them can remember seeing. It's surreal. The energy within Leslie's veins feels far from containable.

“What do you think they're waiting for?” Gina asks curiously, her eyes taking in the crowd for a few seconds before they settle back on Ruby. They're still moving, painfully slowly, but it's more of a queue than a march now. It's as magical as it is terrifying.

“I think they did it.”

The sounds of the crowd die out as they all contemplate Mandy's words. To be honest, Leslie had almost forgotten about their friends, too overwhelmed to even consider the possibility. But it makes sense, unlike all the other hypothetical explanations swirling around her mind.

Iggy reaches out towards his sister and lets his knuckles brush past her shoulder. To an untrained eye, it could seem involuntary, but Leslie knows better. “Yeah, sis. This is it.”

 

The mass of people waiting in front of the fence – she can now see it, spreading around a huge complex which she suspects may have been a prison once, later taken by the Protectors as some sort of facility and now retaken by the people – is starting to move rather quickly. When their little group gets to the front, she notices the armed guards waiting by the sides of the gate, at least a dozen on each side, even more of them walking all around the property.

She sees one of the men snicker as the one next to him tells him something off-handedly. Their guns are pointing to the ground. Their faces, even though some are serious, do not seem hostile.

“Hello, and welcome, I'm gonna need your name, where you're coming from and how you found out about this place. Ma'am?” Leslie blinks and glances at the man by her side who's been typing furiously on his tablet but looked up when she didn't respond straight away.

“Uh… It's Leslie.” A thought enters her head that this place might not be so safe after all. What if they're just signing up for another fucked up joke?

“Alright, Leslie. Where have you been staying prior to the Liberation?”

“The what?” she blurts out, her brain too slows to pin it together.

The man offers a small smile and types something quickly, pulling aside one of the guards and murmuring something into his ear. Leslie can smell the panic before she feels it.

“Okay, this is agent Hobbs, he's gonna escort you to the office where you'll get a briefing. Do I understand correctly that you don't know what happened eight days ago?”

She shakes her head and is about to follow the agent, but she remembers that she's not alone. “They're with me.”

Iggy, Mandy and Gina, along with Ruby appear by her side, pushing through so that they can't be divided.

“Okay then,” the man sighs, “I'm gonna have to get your names as well, then you can go.”

A few minutes later, they're following agent Hobbs through the gate and towards the group of buildings, heading towards the smaller one on the right. It's way fewer people around there, but it's still much more than what she's used to.

Agent Hobbs greets a few fellow guards as he enters the building, waiting for them all to come through as well before turning to the left, towards the only door that's open.

“Wait here a second,” he says, disappearing inside. They don't have time to chat, though, because he's out in a moment and ushering them inside.

It looks a bit like an office, but the space is huge and there is barely any furniture. The people inside are standing in groups, but there's one woman on the right, looking at them as they walk and waving them to come closer.

“Welcome,” she says as soon as they're close enough. “I'm sure you must be confused. Before we get into it, how much do you know about what happened?”

“Nothing,” Mandy cuts in before any of them could reply. Leslie's glad for that. She isn't sure whether they could trust this woman, either.

“Alright then,” she smiles. “Oh, I can't believe I forgot – my name's Sophia. My job here is to explain our intentions to those who haven't seen the news yet. Eight days ago, some of the rebelling forces within the Protectors' circles, along with a remarkable group of people managed to contact the Union. To put it shortly, the information they got prompted them into action, and they managed to overthrow the Protectors and liberate the country. We are currently trying to figure out how to stand on our own feet again, and the Union is helping us out in every way.”

It might be foolish, but Leslie decides to trust her. The amount of joy that spreads through her body when she hears that they had succeeded is barely manageable, but soon she starts feeling guilty. Not all of them get to celebrate.

“You're taking this surprisingly well,” Sophia chuckles, eyeing them curiously. “You sure you don't wanna tell me something?”

They exchange uncertain glances but, to be honest, there's not much fight left in either of them to keep quiet anymore. If all this is just a huge joke, some fucked up means of catching the rebels, they'll die anyway. They have nothing to lose.

“There's quite a lot,” she says, willing her breathing to calm down.

Together, they tell Sophia that they all come from the same place and that the people she's mentioned are their friends. They avoid the details about the shelter or their friends' names, but Sophia doesn't question it. She then explains all about the Union, but frankly, they don't care much.

“That's quite of a story. I must say, it's a bit hard to believe, but as far as I can tell, neither of you is lying. I don't understand one thing, though. What are you all doing here?”

This story is harder to tell. Leslie refrains from it entirely, using up all the energy on holding back the sobs when it comes to the end.

“I'm sorry,” Sophia says. “The things you went through must have been awful. We'll notify our agents and make sure that the Protectors who kidnapped you will be taken care of. I know it's hard to believe when you've just escaped from them, but we're winning. There aren't many who are still free and I guarantee you, by the end of the month, there will be none.”

Gina had taken Ruby aside when they were talking about the recent events, but the child is barely standing and Sophia calls someone over to lead them to the health center and, after that, a room.

The staff give them a thorough check-up, treat some minor wounds and let Ruby have some medicine for her upset stomach. It's like watching an old movie. Leslie isn't sure about its genre yet.

“Okay sweetie, here you go. In case your fever goes up again, just have someone take you down here and we'll figure something out, okay?” The doctor, Leslie supposes, though she looks barely eighteen, offers Ruby a genuine smile.

“Thank you,” Ruby says, hesitating for a second before hugging the girl close. She seems surprised for a while but hugs her back, the smile never leaving her face. “You remind me of my daughter, Franny, you know?” She says, leaning down so that the two of them are on face level. “She's still very young, but she's stronger than she looks. I think you are very strong, too.”

They don't stay much longer, not wanting to waste the precious time since neither of them is injured badly, but Leslie's eyes linger on the girl as if there was something about her she was missing. She's sure she's never seen her before, but something about her eyes, the curl of her lips, the way she talked to Ruby… It's like she should know her, somehow.

The room they get is small, but there are enough beds for each one and they fall into them without much talk, too exhausted to even think. The sun hasn't set yet, but Leslie falls asleep before her head touches the pillow.

 

...

 

The thought of spending the night in that house disgusts him.

It's written all over his features, but he doesn't argue when Jonathan suggests it. They're all exhausted and though it isn't that far to the shelter, they could all use a couple hours of rest. They settle on leaving right after sunrise, which is another five hours away. It's been two already, and Mickey can't close his eyes.

Ian isn't asleep, either. His breath is too shallow on the back of his neck. The walls seem to be closing in on him, as if the house itself was mocking him for being so scared.

He's not afraid that Vladimir would come back. He's actually hoping he'd dare.

No, he's scared of the thoughts that just won't let him shut his brain off for even a minute. All he can see is Lana, her blood on the pavement, on his shoes.

Ian shuffles behind him. They're lying on a couch that sat abandoned in one of the back rooms – the one thing that seemed like it wasn't being used. It's small and ratty, but Mickey would not risk lying in one of their beds. He'd rather take a bullet than do that.

“Can't sleep?” Ian mumbles, his attempt at sounding neutral falling flat when his voice breaks. Instead of replying, Mickey sits up just a bit, glad when Ian does the same, but he doesn't turn around. He leans back into Ian's embrace, tilting his head so that they can see each other in the dark.

He wants to say it. That he's afraid. That he's not sure he can make it through the night.

Ian's pale skin glistens in the dim room and his breath brushes Mickey's skin again, and it's almost an instinct to clasp his mouth against his, stealing the air from Ian as he dives in for a bruising kiss. He gasps into Ian's mouth when he feels his hands touching him, rolling up his shirt and pulling it over his head. There's no time to think, to talk. They need this.

Soon, he turns around, barely breaking contact with Ian's mouth so that he's facing him, his legs on either side of Ian's as he undresses the other man quickly. The room gets smaller and smaller, and Mickey's not sure whether there's enough air for the both of them.

He ends up lying on his back, wanting to see Ian, wanting to feel him all over. Each touch helps occupy his mind, and he gives as good as he gets, navigating his way across Ian's body by memory, pushing back across his every move and craving more.

“Please…” it slips out, far more broken than it should, but Ian understands. He kisses him roughly and picks up the pace, swallowing Mickey's sounds as he tries to keep quiet himself.

Mickey comes with a muffled cry, burying his face in Ian's neck as he, too, chases release, too caught up to realize he's crying. Ian breathes in shakily, leaning back a bit and kissing him, sweetly this time. He moves up and kisses the wetness from his eyes, wordlessly lying down behind him and letting him curl up close.

It could be hours or minutes that go by, it doesn't matter. They lie just like that, in each other's embrace, sharing the air and comforting each other the best they could.

Mickey barely closes his eyes before the sunrays wake him up.

 

…

 

“You've really seen it?”

“Sure did.”

“How big was it?”

“Like this, I'd say,” Mickey says, nodding to himself with a serious expression as he spreads Luke's arms as far as they could go, his mouth twitching as the kid erupts into giggles.

Ian was worried about the drive first. He was scared that the kids might freak out and he wouldn't be able to fix it – he's been cowardly avoiding being alone with them ever since the shit went down. He couldn't bear the thought of failing them.

But he was also anxious about what was going on with Mickey. Still is, but to his surprise, Luke was the first person to make Mickey smile today and vice versa. It's like magic to watch the two of them go on and about the most random of things like it's the most natural thing in the world.

Hell, maybe it is.

Amy's still a bit quiet. This, however, Ian can deal with better than panic.

“What do you think about Ayla?” he asks off-handedly, trying to maintain a smile as he looks at his niece. She's sitting straight as an arrow, never having spoken since they left, but Ian can't blame her. He suspects that she understands far more than she's letting show.

“She's nice,” she says, shrugging. “I don't like the big man.”

“Victor?” he chuckles, squinting into the rearview mirror where he can see Victor behind the wheel of the other car, chatting about something with Ayla. “Yeah, he can be weird sometimes.”

“You mean all the time?” Jonathan snorts from the driver's seat, a grin spreading across his face. “The guy hasn't smiled once since I've known him. But he likes your friend, I think.”

Yeah, that. Victor and Cat have been… getting along since he went to pick her up from Mitch. She's not entirely okay just yet, but the bullets missed all the vital organs and she insisted on going back with them, despite every sane person's protests. Jackson stayed though, along with the guy who was needed elsewhere, and they all felt relieved when Cat made it there alright. Telling her about Lana was tough, but thankfully Victor told her before they met up, giving her enough time to deal with it instead of having to be so vulnerable in front of all of them. Ian doesn't know how he knew to do that, but he's grateful nonetheless.

“Tell him to keep it in his pants then,” Mickey mutters, never once looking up from Luke.

“Not like that.” Jonathan rolls his eyes. “I might not like him much, but I know the guy. He doesn't get along with people easily, but she's tough and doesn't shy away. Must be a nice change of pace, that's all.”

Ian's thoughts trail off after that. It's not a long drive, after all, and Amy's started arguing with Luke about whether or not there were lions in here and had it not been for all the other shit, it felt almost normal for a second. Like a road trip with his family, a drive back home with no corpse in the trunk, the sound of laughter without the stench of death spoiling the air.

Mickey squeezes his shoulder lightly, a ghost of a smile flickering on his face when Ian looks at him, soon overtaken by the terror he's been trying to hide all day.

But he knows what Mickey's saying. _Me too. I'm scared, too._

He reaches out for his hand and brings their joint hands down, palms clasped together, fingers entwined.

They get to the shelter within an hour. It's familiar and odd at the same time, the stale air and vast nothingness welcoming them home like they've never left. Andrew and Victor help Cat get out of the car, and soon they're all standing by the warehouse, hesitating to make that first step. A ridiculous thought crosses Ian's mind that they'd forgotten about them. He wills it to go away.

“Let's take care of Lana, first.” They all look at Mickey, surprised but not protesting. The others can say their goodbyes later. But they haven't seen her die. Ian gets that.

They don't make it special. Lana wouldn't have wanted them to, anyway. What is there to say? The body covered in sheets that is now lying a couple feet under them is just a body, the bullet holes, though invisible now, still reminding them of that.

But as they all start walking towards the warehouse, Mickey stays behind. Ian can see him muttering something under his breath before he closes his eyes for just a second, his lips shaking before he draws in a sharp breath and catches up with him and the kids.

Mickey won't look at him, so he can't ask whether he's okay… But he lets their hands brush lightly as they walk. He picks Luke up when he asks and squeezes Ian's hand for a second before letting go. Amy wordlessly walks to Mickey's side and holds his free hand, surprising the man for a second, but he holds on tightly. She reaches the other hand to Ian, who takes it happily.

It's truly a sight, and though Ian's heart is aching for the woman he wishes he could have gotten to know better, spent more time with… He's hopeful, too. Hopeful that they might be okay, with time, and that they could make this thing work, somehow.

“Alright, I suggest you wait here, let us check it out first. Sounds okay?” Ayla asks the four of them with a smile, but something feels off about it. She glances at Jonathan anxiously and the smile falters. “We'll be right back, just to be safe. Jonathan?”

The man follows her, and Victor stays behind with his gun ready, looking around suspiciously, and the somewhat warm feeling in Ian's gut starts to dissipate.

He looks in the direction of where Victor's eyes stop, and then he sees it.

Tire tracks. One car couldn't have done this. He tries not to look around too much, praying to whatever god he doesn't believe in that he's wrong, that he just imagined Ayla's worried face.

When Ayla and Jonathan come back, their faces are neutral. Controlled. Ayla aims straight for the kids, smiling down on them and leading them away while chatting carelessly, and Ian feels like he might throw up. Mickey's squeezing his hand so tight it hurts, but he lets the pain ground him while Jonathan walks up to them, the façade finally breaking as he frowns.

“Spit it out,” Andrew whispers, his mouth a flat line.

“There's… there's nobody inside. We looked. All we found was a body and a message.”

Jonathan holds up the picture – a polaroid, Ian realizes – of the shelter from the outside, probably taken from the exact same spot they're in now, except that in the photo, their friends are standing outside, scared and outnumbered, from what they can see. Jonathan then turns the picture around, where a short message is scribbled down:

_Your friends lied to us. We know you're still out there. Find us – for every moment you hesitate, one of them dies. Like him._

“Who?” Cat rasps in horror as she stares at the picture. It's the question they're all asking in their heads.

“A man in his forties, I think,” Jonathan mutters, “dark hair, a beard. He was wearing a red flannel shirt.”

_Brian_.

Andrew punches a hole through the wall of the warehouse. Ian feels like putting one through his skull. And Mickey… He can't even look at him. He can't, because every single reassurance Ian has ever given him is fake, and it's about time he realized that.

“Don't,” Mickey mouths quietly when he finally glances his way. “Don't give up yet.”

Ian shakes his head. “Not sure I can do that.”

“You can. You refused to let me, now I'll do the same for you. We're not finished yet. We'll find the motherfuckers, and we'll kill every single one. We have the numbers now, the whole fucking Union will come here if necessary. We can save them – we're not losing this fight just yet.”

They walk down the familiar halls, feeling the Protectors' presence as if they were still there. This was their home. Their safety. And now it's nothing but a bunch of holes in the ground, with the smell of blood polluting its air.

Brian's corpse is in the main hall, sitting on the chair in the very center of it. His eyes as open as his jugular vein.

Ian looks away.

 

 


	10. Hundreds of ghosts going home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the end

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe it's over. 
> 
> I gave my everything to this fic. I cried and laughed while writing it, I fell in love with the people in it, I lived through the stories and it feels weird to say goodbye (spoiler: this might not be a goodbye).
> 
> Enjoy this last ride, and please read my note at the end. 
> 
> I love you all xx

 

**_Chapter 10: Hundreds of ghosts going home_ **

_“I like to see people reunited, I like to see people run to each other, I like the kissing and the crying, I like the impatience, the stories that the mouth can't tell fast enough, the ears that aren't big enough, the eyes that can't take in all of the change, I like the hugging, the bringing together, the end of missing someone.”_

_Jonathan Safran Foer, Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close_

 

* 

 

They say that grief changes you.

It seeps deep into your skin when you first encounter it and stays there, right under the surface. It becomes a blind spot in your vision, a buzzing in your ears. You start seeing things for what they are, or at least you think so. The evil of the world becomes your daily dose of hopelessness, enhancing the grief and yet you can never close your eyes from it.

But there comes a point when the buzzing gets a little too loud, the blind spots too obvious for you to ignore them. And they lose their power. You're still grieving, but the feeling changes. It transforms into something much more damaging.

This time, however, it's not you who ends up getting hurt.

There have been so many deaths. Each one was meant to ruin them, to break them down. The fact that it didn't means that, despite everything, they still haven't given up. Yet it was different – they were no longer fighting for a cause. They were no longer hoping for a certain outcome. And somehow, no longer bound by the fear of losing, they were more determined than ever.

At last, they realized that losing all hope was freedom.

 

*

 

“Will you at least consider the option?” Jonathan asks with an edge to his voice, though it's leaning more towards concern than anger.

Since having found Brian, they have been trying to come up with a plan. The unionists wanted to wait, but their first instinct was action. It's still an effort for Mickey not to get up and leave, like their friends' track is getting weaker with every passing second they're sitting there.

“It's not gonna happen,” Ian replies sternly. “We're going with you.”

“It may be a surprise to you, but you don't get to make decisions like this. We are far more competent in handling this issue. Having you tag along would be nothing short of a distraction.” Victor's words are cold, but Ayla and Jonathan look around their group far more indecisively.

The four of them don't even have to look at one another to seek confirmation. They're doing this. “Try and stop us.” Mickey is the first to stand up, and everyone else follows him soon. “We're leaving now. Waiting any longer means risking our friends' lives, and though I know you don't give a single fuck about them, you also have a mission. Accompany us to safety – that includes them. So stop acting like this is a fucking game and get moving. We're gonna need backup, a lot of it. I don't care how you're planning on making that happen, but I strongly suggest that you do.”

“They're right, Vic,” Jonathan says, and that, along with Ayla's agreement seems to be enough to shut him up. They contact the Union and settle on a meeting point. Then they all make their way to the cars, and Mickey can't help it but feel like they're leaving the place forever. The dead are the only ones they're leaving behind.

It's almost easy to slip back into planning. They only talk about the mission, refusing the unionists' attempts at conversation about what happened before. Luckily, the backup forces meet them at the location, as they were supposed to, maybe half a day later. Back when they were still at the shelter, they tried to make sense of the tire trails, to see if they lead somewhere, but the people who left them behind were smart about that, too. The tracks end as abruptly as they begin.

“Let's go over it again.”

It feels like the hundredth time they're discussing it. The unionists ask them about their friends and whether they know anything about how they got discovered. They go over every single detail, but they come up empty-handed each time.

Isaac and his crew joined them as well, and so did about twenty more people. It didn't seem like enough, but it has been explained to Mickey and the others that many more people are currently searching the country. The Internet has been back up as well, and the recovery facilities are keeping track of who comes and goes. Somebody must have seen _something_ , or so they keep telling them.

“They're strong,” Cat proclaims out of the blue when they're left alone for a while, the others discussing what seems to be a new lead, though it might turn out to be a dead end, just like all the ones before. “They wouldn't give up without a fight. We have to believe that we'll find them.”

Mickey doesn't really disagree, but he knows that the will to live alone wouldn't save them.

“The thing I'm wondering about the most is, how did the Protectors find _them_?” Andrew has been bringing that one up the most. Mickey tries not to be irritated when he hears him this time, knowing it'd be as pointless as the conversation itself.

“Rob?” Cat asks, as she had done before. It's a futile attempt at least.

“What about someone from within?”

They turn around in unison, not really surprised to see Victor standing there.

“Eavesdropping much?” he blurts out, finding it that much harder to stay calm when he's accusing his friends. “Don't fucking talk about them like you know them.”

Victor holds up his hands, a look of boredom settling on his face. “Not trying to pick a fight here, it was the one rational option you hadn't discussed before.”

“Neither of them would ever betray us, Victor.” Cat sounds calm when she addresses him, which is surprising enough. One of her rare smiles that appears next is one step too far.

“I'm going for a walk,” he announces, feeling the blood boil in his veins. It's a matter of seconds until he snaps, and despite everything, he knows it would be unfair to lash out on any of them. Even that bastard.

There's a question in Ian's eyes when their eyes meet as he's passing the crew, but he just shakes his head. Wordlessly, he walks out.

They've been staying in the city, in one of the houses the Union is using now, similar to the one near the Central. Walking around it alone, without the need to shield himself or constantly look over his shoulder in fear, is… weird. He is armed, of course, it's not entirely safe just yet. But it will be. Despite everything that's happened, the price they've paid… they did make it. Shouldn't it make him feel better, somehow?

When he returns, they're already looking for him.

“What's going on?” he asks immediately, taking in the people walking around and passionately discussing something. His friends are by his side in seconds, eyes wide, faces filled with more life than he can remember seeing.

“They found something,” Ian replies hurriedly, obviously torn between the urge to let the hope take over and worry. “Come on.”

They drag him to the office and not the garage, which means it was some sort of a message. For a small second, he hoped their friends would be sitting in a car outside, but he quickly pushes the thought away. This is still something.

“Our forces just arrested a bunch of Protectors,” Jason starts as soon as they're all gathered around the computers.” They transferred them to the main holding facility, but before that, the Protectors led them to their former hiding spot after a clear indication that cooperation is the best course of action to take. They notified us because they think it could have been the same people who kidnapped your friends.”

“Why?” he asks, trying to see whether he can decipher any of the words on the screen, but it's not making any sense to him.

“They, uh…” Jason coughs awkwardly, looking up at someone behind them. “Isaac?”

Isaac walks up to them, a careful frown settling on his face. “The place was a mess – an old house with what seemed like a cellar… There were signs of people having been kept there for some time. Outside, they found some… bodies, as well. Two Protectors, two civilians. We should get a report soon with pictures attached so that you can try and identify them. Our specialists say that one of the cars is missing as well, so they're looking for that too right now, in case they had used it to escape.”

After a beat or two, he adds, “I'm sorry. I know it's a lot right now, but try to focus on the fact that we have a lead now.” It's not much in the terms of consolation, but Mickey feels so detached about death that it's easy to forget about that part until they know for certain who it was.

“Thanks, Isaac,” Ian mutters as the man turns to leave, which is kind of a cue for them to get going as well.

“We'll notify you when we get the report,” Jason calls after them, but nobody replies.

Mickey doesn't know which outcome to hope for. But it's not long before he gets his answers.

*

 

The next day is even crazier than the first one was. After confirming that they're all healthy and don't have any more questions, they each get brand new identification documents and an assigned place in the city for them to live in, at least until everything falls back in place.

They aren't forced to stay there, but after having traveled for so long, they all crave a little bit of privacy, and safety.

“So we'll stay?” Iggy asks as they walk into their house, having chosen to all stay under one roof despite being offered the option to split up. It would be so much worse that way.

“For a while,” she replies, and the others hum in agreement. They haven't forgotten about their home, but they need some time to deal with what they've been through.

“I'll make something to eat,” Gina offers after a while of awkward silence and she disappears into the kitchen along with Ruby. They each got a package with groceries, clothes and some basic toiletries, plus they can always go back to the office and ask for more if they run out. It's all only temporary, obviously, but it feels unreal that someone would just hand the stuff over to them. Leslie isn't sure she believes in that kind of kindness anymore.

“What do we even do here?” Mandy asks as she takes in the empty walls. They walk up to the window and watch the people walk down the street, not entirely carefree, but it's like watching a movie nonetheless. “People watching?” she suggests, letting out a giggle when Mandy frowns in confusion.

“Making up stories,” she elaborates when Iggy isn't catching up either. “You pick a person and talk about who they are, where they're going… What their story is.”

Iggy shrugs, but he seems intrigued. “I've never done that before. Sounds better than staring at walls though.”

“Yeah, I'm in,” Mandy grins as well, though it is much softer than her usual smirk. “How about that guy over there?”

It's a silly game, but it manages to make them laugh for the first time in what feels like a lifetime. This, a warm meal, a shower and the feel of fresh sheets on her skin makes Lee feel like she's somehow taken over someone else's life. It's almost like before. She falls asleep with a smile on her face.

But it doesn't last long. They're itching to go home, to see for themselves that their friends are safe. That's why, a couple days later, they decide to head to the office and ask some questions – now that there aren't crowds of people waiting outside, it's far easier to get in and talk to someone.

“I'll stay and keep an eye on Ruby, it's probably for the best that she gets as much sleep as she can. Mands?”

“I don't know,” she says, looking from Gina to her brother and Lee who are about to leave. “I hated the way they pried for answers the last time we went there. Maybe it'd be better if I stayed and let you two handle it.”

“You're right, they'd be scared to say a word If you unleashed on them,” Iggy teases her with a grin, ignoring Mandy's glare that dissolves into a look of concern. “Just be careful, and keep out of trouble.”

“We will,” Leslie smiles, and they get going.

It's only a short walk, but they try to make it even shorter by talking. It's all they'd been doing lately, and Leslie finds herself getting better each day because she knows Iggy will be there when she wakes up. The idea of leaving either of them behind is unimaginable, but with him, the thought alone is unbearable. She's aware of the unspoken thing going on between them, and for now, she's pretty content with things being as they are. They have to get home first.

“You know how, sometimes, you get a feeling that everything's gonna work out in the end?” Iggy says as they walk through security, and she knows he doesn't expect her to answer.

“How can I help you?” The woman behind the desk asks, smiling, and to Leslie's surprise, it's the same woman they had talked to before. Sophia.

“Hey,” she says, noticing that Sophia doesn't recognize them right away. “We wanted to ask about some… things. About our friends. The ones who helped with the Liberation.”

The recognition appears on her face as she smiles ever wider. “Oh, of course. You've been here before. Follow me, please.” She stands up and calls over a guy who takes her place, and then she leads them further inside the building, stopping in front of a massive double door that leads into another office.

“Please, sit down. Someone will come by shortly.”

They're left alone in the spacious office, sitting awkwardly across from an empty table, but not for long. A man walks in through the door on their right they hadn't noticed before, and he greets them with a smile.

“Welcome. My name's Richard, and I'm the head of this facility, at least unofficially. And you are?” He sits down across from them, the friendly smile never leaving his aged face.

“Igor,” Iggy says, offering his real name for a change. “And I'm Leslie,” she adds. “We'd like to ask you some questions, if that's okay.”

“So I've heard,” he nods. “Would you mind if I asked you something first? I promise you'll get all the answers you need.”

He waits for confirmation before continuing. “I have been notified that on your first visit here, you claimed to know the people who had made all this,” he gestures around, “possible. Now, I have no reason not to believe you, especially since there is some information you might be interested in. But I do need to confirm that you're telling the truth. I hope you understand.” He looks apologetic and his words sound honest, but it's hard to tell these days.

“That's understandable,” Iggy says cautiously, “but I don't know what we can do to convince you.”

“This should be enough,” he says, typing away on his computer for a while before speaking again, this time to the screen. “Can you hear me? Hello?”

For a while, nothing happens, but then a muffled voice comes through.

“Yeah, I can hear you just fine. Where are they?”

Leslie's heartbeat picks up when recognition floods her senses, but she freezes in her seat. Can it be?

That's when Richard turns the screen towards them and there, barely visible on the gray, grainy screen, is him.

“Jackson…” Iggy gulps, eyes glued to the monitor. “Jackson??”

“It's me, Igg. Oh my god. Leslie? I'm so glad you two are okay, fuck… Sorry, Richard, I'm just so… Is anyone hurt? How did you get there? Who…”

“Shut the fuck up,” Iggy blurts out, a huge smile plastered on his face. “Just shut up. You're speaking too damn fast. We're okay… most of us are, anyway.”

“Interesting”, Richard says from his seat, smiling for real this time. “I guess this answers my question. I'll leave you to this for a couple minutes, but the connection is weird and you may not have much time. Try to catch up quick.” He stands up and disappears in the very same door, but Leslie isn't paying him any attention.

“Jackson, where is everyone? What happened?”

His smile falters for a while, but he must sense their dread because he answers quickly. “They're okay, as far as I know. I left them a while ago when we were coming back, and I stayed to help out after the revolution started getting a bit out of hand. Richard contacted me when they found your names in the records, so that I could identify you if need be. He said there were more of you though?”

“Yes, we just came to get some information. We're trying to get back home.”

“Yeah, me too,” he says, “but it's not as easy as it sounds. It's still dangerous outside the cities, and they need me here. But I know for sure that the others are looking for you. Have a word with Richard about that, he'll know what to do.”

“What about you?” Iggy asks with concern. “You coming home once this is over?”

Jackson doesn't reply right away. “I don't think… This isn't really going to end, you know? Going back there seems pointless when we don't have to hide anymore. I definitely wanna see you all, but…”

“I understand. You better come see us when you can.”

Jackson nods, then notifies them that the connection will end soon. He seems happy there. They all knew he hated having to stay in the shelter, but Leslie hates how his words make her feel. She should be happy that they don't have to go back to the shelter, but it's gonna take a while not to see it as her home.

“Well?” Richard asks once he walks in again, noting the now black screen and their somehow bewildered faces. “I hope it went well.”

“Thank you,” she says, and Iggy nods along. “We appreciate this a lot. Jackson said you could help us find the rest of our friends.”

He sits back down and eyes them carefully. “I think I can, now that you're here. You see, we never got the names of the people who did it. Jackson here wouldn't give them up at first, but I figured that you'd want to find them, if you ever came here. Our organization is… a fractured mess, to be entirely honest. Nothing works as flawlessly as it should, so it has proven a bit hard to track some people. There are hundreds of searches going on at the time, but we did get a few messages that might be relevant here. If you were to sort through them under my supervision, we may both get something out of it.”

“Sounds fair,” she says, “but why do you want to find them?”

“Once this settles,” he replies, “they're gonna be heroes. The people need to see the faces of the people who freed them.”

 

*

 

Leslie and Iggy agreed to Richard's terms, but they almost started regretting the decision when numerous hours of looking through records have passed, and they were nowhere near done searching.

She had gone and told Gina and Mandy why they were taking so long a couple hours ago, and though they wanted to come with, it wouldn't have made much of a difference either way. Instead, she returned alone, and started digging. It wasn't as bad in the beginning – Richard wasn't a bad companion after all – but it did get boring very soon.

“My eyes hurt,” Iggy whines again, barely paying attention anymore. “How many more?”

“Just… more,” Leslie replies, equally as unenthusiastic as him. Richard is just about to say something snarky, she thinks, when there's a knock on his door.

“Come in,” he calls, not taking eyes off his own screen. Sophia peeps in and waits for him to look up. “What is it?”

“Sir, there's someone who wants to talk to you about the names you've just published. The names of the Liberators? She says she knows one of them as well.”

Leslie and Iggy exchange quick glances, a wave of hope and surprise hitting them as they wait for Richard to finally say something.

“Well, call her in. If you don't mind?” he asks them, but they're already shaking their heads before he's done talking.

A few seconds pass before a young woman walks in, and at first, Leslie doesn't recognize her. She's sure Iggy doesn't since he looks just as confused, but when she comes closer, it clicks.

“I know you,” she says, at the same time as the woman addresses Richard with a smile. That causes her to look at Leslie instead.

 “I'm sorry?” the woman asks, confused.

“The hospital, when we first came here. You took care of Ruby, the girl we're traveling with. Told her she reminded you of your daughter.”

Leslie remembers the distant feeling she had back then, a feeling of familiarity when she looked at her.

“Oh,” she replies after a while. “Right. I'm Debbie, nice to meet you.” She smiles politely, but turns back to Richard quickly. “Sir, I need to talk to you about those names. Are you sure they're… Are you sure it's them?” Debbie looks hopeful, but she tries to not let it show much. Leslie knows the feeling all too well.

“They certainly are,” Richard says. “These people,” he gestures towards them, “shared them with me not long ago. They have all been staying together prior to the Liberation, and they participated in the orchestration of the plan. I trust them that the names they've shared are real.”

Debbie glances back at them, a puzzled expression on her face. “Is that true? Did you know…”

“Who?” Leslie asks, impatient to find out who this girl is.

After a couple more seconds of studying their faces carefully, she sighs. “My brother. I haven't seen him since before the Protectors took over, but then I saw the name… But it doesn't make sense. He was one of…” She doesn't finish, holding back a choked sob instead.

It's Iggy who figures it out first. “Are you Ian's sister?”

“Oh my god,” Debbie breathes out, this time crying for real. “Oh god, is he okay? Is he alive? What happened to him?!” She stammers and leans against the wall, and Leslie finds herself standing up and walking towards her.

“He's okay,” she says, though she doesn't know that for sure just yet. “We're looking for him, but it's just a matter of time until we find him. He mentioned you, before.” She smiles softly and lays a comforting hand on Debbie's shoulder, happy when she doesn't flinch away.

“I thought he was one of them. The Protectors,” Debbie spits out, the streams of tears finally stopping. “He joined them in the beginning, and he never came back. Then all the shit happened and we thought…”

“Ian realized that, too,” Iggy's voice comes from behind them, and Debbie looks at him too. “When he found out what was really happening, he ran away and found us. He's a good man, and I'm glad to call him my friend.”

Debbie nods, not trusting herself to speak up again until she calms down.

“Guys,” Richard calls from his desk, eyes on the screen. “Not to disturb you or anything, but you might wanna come here and be happy, because I think I found them.”

 

*

 

The reports came soon enough, and they identified the bodies without much trouble. Obviously, it hit them just the same, but the fact that they'd been expecting it… Doesn't mean they were prepared, no. Ian isn't sure whether one could ever truly be prepared for that.

But they got the job done, and moved on.

There wasn't much they could do apart from waiting now. The possibility that their friends are safe is much bigger now that they know they've escaped – some of them, he reminds himself – but the waiting is taking a toll on them already.

“This city is gonna get filled up soon, too,” Isaac says one evening as they're eating outside for once, the bonfire shining down on them like a torch. It's a weird feeling, to be outside and carefree like that, but Ian can see they're all enjoying it.

“Apart from all the bad things going on,” Ayla smiles gently, “it's pretty cool to be walking around here, alone in the city. Now that it's safe.” She takes a sip from the bottle she's been holding, making a face and passing it on to Cat who takes a much bigger gulp. There are guards scattered around them, and so Ayla and Jonathan decided to tag along. So did Isaac, but the rest of his group refused. Victor didn't bother to come, obviously. Not that anyone cares much.

It's nice to let go like that. The kids stayed up with them while it was still light out, but maybe Ian isn't as bad of an authority figure as he had thought, since he did convince them pretty easily to let him put them to sleep. It's getting easier to navigate his life around them, but it's so much different now. It used to be about necessity and survival, the fierce need to protect them with his own life, if need be.

Now, they're getting comfortable. There's a certain routine in their lives now, and though they're still anxious, Isaac claims that it ought to take a while. And he trusts him. He always did.

“What about before?” Ayla's voice brings him back to reality, and he realizes that they've been talking for a while now.

“I was in New York,” Cat says, smiling. “Used to work in this library. I know, I know, boring.”

“You hate books,” Andrew mutters, earning an eye roll from Cat. “So what? It's not like they cared.”

“And the rest of you?”

“Chicago,” Mickey says with a grimace. “All of us. And you?”

“Me too,” she smiles. “But I moved out a couple years before… Yeah, well. Didn't really enjoy it there much.”

They go on for a couple more hours, not really caring about having to get up soon. Still, Ian finds himself leaving before anyone else, announcing that he wants to check on the kids before going to bed. He's met with drunken goodbyes and unfocused glances, and he's glad he hadn't drunk much when he imagines the hangovers. Mickey goes as well, definitely not as sober as Ian, but still walking on his own. That's a success.

“Ian.”

He stops, realizing he's left Mickey behind a few feet. He looks confused, in a very cute way, and Ian can't help but smile. “Did you forget how to put one foot in front of the other?”

“Shut up,” he says, coming closer, his eyes a bit unfocused, searching for Ian's face until he's right in front of him. “Don't talk now.”

Ian would be concerned, had it not been for the fact that he knows Mickey. Still, he closes his eyes shut and waits for what he knows is to come.

The kiss is sloppy and Mickey can't seem to be able to stand on his own, now that he's having to focus on something else, so Ian turns them around and lines them up against the wall, pressing Mickey against it so that he doesn't fall down.

“You taste like rum,” he whispers, pulling away a little when his lips feel numb.

“Nah, I don't drink.”

“Uh-uh,” he lets out a laugh, coming in for a kiss. “So they always say.”

“No, seriously, I'm sober as an arrow,” Mickey mutters again, pushing Ian away.

“That's not how the saying goes.”

“I can prove it,” he says after a while, biting that lip of his which makes it hard to stay focused on what he's saying. That's when Mickey catches him off guard and turns them around again, switching their positions and looking at Ian with what really does look like a more sober expression.

“Huh?” he lets out, but Mickey just stares. “Mick?”

“I love you.”

Mickey doesn't let him react. He drags him down for a kiss and doesn't let go, even when Ian realizes what just happened, Mickey just presses himself closer and kisses him deeper and every thought of letting go disappears.

Until it's over, and they're both looking at each other, neither of them speaking, and he feels like he should say something. Anything. Mickey notices.

“Don't,” he says, quietly. It's vulnerable, a combination of being drunk and exposed and hopeful but scared at the same time creating a mess of emotions on his face for Ian to see. He trusts him. “I'm sorry.”

Mickey looks away.

It's painful to watch, but Ian is stuck. No, he's dumbfounded. “Did you mean that?” That's not what he meant to say, but it's too late now. Mickey looks hurt for a split second, but then it's just coldness. “If you really need to ask that, I guess it doesn't matter.”

“It does. Mick, I love you, too. Of course I fucking love you…”

“Maybe you should have started with that, asshole.” The small smile on Mickey's face makes it all right again, and Ian can feel his lips curling up as well.

“I've been told I'm a terrible tease.”

Mickey starts walking away and dragging him through the corridors, muttering something indecipherable, and the complete happiness Ian feels in that moment is almost unbearable. They are going to be alright. They _are_.

 

*

 

“I know your heads are pounding, guys, but that's what the coffee is for,” Jonathan announces the next morning as they're all gathering in the room. Mickey tries to put the usual glare back on his face to blend into the unusually grumpy crowd, but he can't seem to keep the act up for long.

“Is everyone here?” The hum of confirmation is enough for Jonathan, who nods and listens to one of his colleagues. They've called them all in for some sort of announcement, but since no one is looking particularly serene, they're not worried.

“You know what's up?” he asks Ian, smirking when he finds a similar smile on Ian's face. “No idea,” he replies, not really looking at Jonathan even as he begins talking.

That is, until they hear what it's about.

“I know it's been a long time. We're all tired and ready to pack it up here. To go home. I'm glad to be able to tell you that our mission was successful.” The room is quiet all of a sudden, and Jonathan smiles at them all brightly. “We got a reply early this morning. It's from one of our facilities, and it says that while we've been looking for the remaining members of your group, they, too, have been looking for you.”

A mixture of voices cut Jonathan off, asking whether they're okay, where they are, when they can leave. The others join in as well, answering all the questions and generally just being happy for them. After so long, it's almost surreal, and Mickey bitterly admits it to himself that he hadn't been as sure as the others that they'll find them.

Doesn't matter now. In a couple hours, after they all pack up, they're on the road again. This time, it is with a purpose and a destination. This time, what awaits them is not death, but a reunion.

“Are we going home now?” Luke asks a couple minutes into the journey, taking in the sights as they drive through the vast land. Soon, there will be people walking the streets again, free of all that's become second nature to them. It's going to be hard to learn to live again, even harder for them and all the others who chose to fight against the system.

“Yes,” Ian replies after a while. “The people we've been looking for – our friends – we're going to them now.” Mickey can see him struggling, because obviously, they don't have any home to speak of. Going back to the shelter would be traumatic at best.

But Luke seems to understand. The kids have noticed that the mood has changed rapidly, and they look so much happier already. It is an unspoken thing that home means staying together.

Each new city that they cross has more people walking the streets, going on about their lives as if nothing ever happened. Ayla tells them about the recovery centers and programs, about the volunteers and the effort they all put into making this feel normal again. It may have been them who started this, but it's the people outside who keep making it happen.

“You're still heroes to them,” she says sadly, knowing it's not why they were doing this. “They know your names now, they know who you are. It might make it easier for people to find you, if they're looking for you.”

“Great, now the people I owe money to will want it back, how fucking typical.”

Ayla scoffs, but the mood changes for the better. Mickey knows she doesn't have anyone out there, either. It's easier for people like them. Or harder, maybe. Whatever.

“Where are we meeting them?” he asks once they enter the city. He doesn't recognize it, but it's not like he ever left Chicago to begin with.

“We're going to the office first,” Ayla replies. “Richard Groove, the one who's in charge here, wanted to talk to us first. He's been in contact with your friends so he'll give us the address, but there was something he wanted to discuss first… I suppose there's nothing to worry about.”

Mickey doesn't audibly complain, but it's obvious that neither of them is too excited about meeting the guy. His siblings are out there, somewhere in this city, and it causes him physical pain not to go looking for them right then. They may not be the most affectionate people out there, but if anyone dares to pry him apart from them once he gets a hold of them, he'll go full-on homicidal on the poor bastard.

The facility is huge and monstrous, not something he'd expect from the Union. The people they meet, however, make his doubts disappear. Somebody must have notified them that they were coming, because as soon as Jonathan announces their arrival at the main desk, the room – a lobby? – erupts into a fit of applause and cheering.

“You weren't joking about that, huh?” Cat asks with a sneer, though she tries to fake a few smiles as they're being maneuvered to the office.

“That was weird,” Luke announces once they're alone in the corridor, a frown settling on his little face as he grabs Ian's hand tightly. Mickey almost chuckles, but the nervousness is back, now that they've reached the door.

The man who was leading the way knocks and waits for the confirmation before opening it and stepping aside. Andrew is the first to walk in, and they all follow, Mickey's eyes scanning the office carefully before settling on the man waiting for them by the desk.

“Welcome!” he says with a friendly smile once they're all inside. “My name's Richard Groove. Can I offer you something? A drink?”

They ignore the last part, but Ayla and Jonathan step forward. They decided to accompany them here, while the rest had either left or waited outside. “Sir, we've been assigned this group back in The Central. Any technical details can be discussed with us, but I hope you understand that these people have been through a lot. It would mean a great deal to them if they could reunite with their friends as soon as possible.” Jonathan nodded along to Ayla's speech, and Mickey realizes how fucking awesome the two of them are.

“Of course,” Richard says, still smiling. “I have no intention to prolong this meeting. Your friends will be here shortly, I already sent for them when they notified me you're here. After you all catch up, you can leave with them, or you can go back to the lobby where they'll assign you a place to stay. All I ask is that you stay in the city and come back once you've settled.”

They exchange glances and thank the man, barely paying attention to him as he goes over some details with Ayla and Jonathan.

Even though they're just a few feet from those three, it feels like they're alone again. Their small group, anxiously waiting to be reunited after so long. Ian subconsciously shuffles closer to the kids, dragging Mickey with him, but neither of them makes eye contact.

Then there's a knock at the door, and the following moments are hazy and surreal. The second his eyes register them, he's walking towards them, crushing Mandy and Iggy in a hug before they have a chance to react. He doesn't let go for a long time, but he can hear the others reuniting in a similar fashion.

“You're okay,” he says, untangling himself from the two, a grin breaking out on his face when he sees them smiling.

“Yeah, shithead. Though you may have broken a rib or two,” Mandy replies, the tears in her eyes ruining the illusion. “I missed you.”

“You did it,” Iggy says, laughing. “Still can't believe it's over.”

It doesn't stop with his siblings. Soon, he's hugging everyone else, Gina and Leslie and Ruby, ignoring the dull ache when he realizes it's far fewer faces than there should have been. He glances over at Ian who's leading the kids to Ruby, and then he walks up to the rest of them and makes his own round of crushing hugs and tearful reunions. It's over so soon even though it feels like forever.

Ayla, Jonathan and Richard are all outside, smiling when they see them walking out.

“Are you leaving?” he asks, nodding when he hears the words of agreement. “Okay then, pay me a visit once you've settled down a bit. Oh, Mr Gallagher?”

Ian stops and turns around, a huge smile plastered on his face. “Yeah?”

“There's someone else who wants to see you. I believe she's waiting in the lobby.”

“We'll catch you outside later, yeah?” Mandy smiles as the rest of them start walking away. Since Ian doesn't react, he nods in her direction and watches them leave before turning back to Ian.

Mickey watches the rollercoaster of emotions play out on Ian's face, eventually settling on a sort of hopeful scowl. “Let's go,” he says after a few awkward moments of silence, grabbing Ian by his upper arm and slowly but surely moving him towards the lobby. Ian's still not saying anything, but as soon as they're only a couple feet away, he stomps his feet into the ground, unwilling to move.

“Ian, what the fuck? Let's go, you heard the man.”

“Mick.”

The way Ian's voice cracks sends a painful jab to Mickey's chest. He knows what's going on, obviously. Ian is unsure of what he will find out there, scared of the possibility of hoping for too much and ending up hurting again.

Ian is looking at him with an urgency that Mickey doesn't know how to deal with.

“Look, don't stress about it just yet – you haven't even seen who it is. If it's someone you don't wanna see, we turn around and walk the fuck away. If not…”

“It could be Fiona's husband,” Ian starts, the words spilling out of him faster than Mickey's ever seen, “he may have found out about the kids. He could want them back – what if he wants them back? I can't give them over, not to him, but I've got no rights, nothing. I can't do that! What if it's someone from the Protectors? What if it's a set up?”

“Ian.”

He waits until Ian stops rambling and finally looks at him, really looks at him. Mickey tries to ignore the warmth that spreads inside of his chest when it visibly calms Ian down. “Not that I don't think that this Richard guy is a pathetic clown, because he most definitely is, but he seems genuine. No reason not to trust him. He was smiling at you for fuck's sake… And this place is safe, no Protector could get through, it doesn't make any sense either way. It's just the panic talking, okay?”

He waits for a nod before continuing. “Now, can we go?” his soft tone ruins the intended impatient effect, but Ian's small smile is worth it. Despite his reassuring words, Mickey is a bit skeptical as they enter the lobby, scanning the place as subtly as he can while Ian looks around, not knowing who he is looking for but it's pretty obvious when he finds them – he freezes mid-step, his eyes glued to somewhere on their right, so Mickey follows his gaze, letting his eyes land on a girl who's more running than walking towards them, tears glistening on her young face that shares some features with Ian's.

She stops at the last moment, leaving a couple feet between them, and the two morons are just standing there, gawking at each other like mute fish, Ian's hand basically crushing the bones in Mickey's wrist but he couldn't bring himself to care.

He grunts, and the sound seems to snap them out of it, because in less than a blink of an eye the two are trying to squeeze the air out of each other's lungs, crying and talking all at once and Mickey feels like he should give them some privacy. He shuffles a couple feet to the side, close enough to be in Ian's reach.

“Where is everyone?” Ian asks, which brings Mickey's attention back to the reunion. The girl doesn't answer for a second too long, and Mickey gravitates back to Ian's side, wordlessly grabbing his hand again while the girl notices the distress and starts talking quickly. “They're okay, Lip is in New York now, took Liam with him… And Carl's alright, too, we keep in touch. Stop worrying, okay? I'll tell you everything, but maybe we should go somewhere else for that,” she adds, looking around the room where several pairs of eyes are on them. Mickey gives them all a glare for good measure, ending his round on the girl's face who is surprisingly looking back at him.

“Ian?” she asks, and Ian looks at him with a slight frown, as if he'd forgotten he's there.

“Mick,” he says, his relieved smile clashing with the overwhelmed look in his eyes. “This is Debbie, my sister. And Mickey's my…”

“Boyfriend,” he supplies, contemplating offering Debbie a hand to shake but dismissing the thought. “Ian has mentioned you before. Said you were badass, so I'll take his word for it.”

He wants to smack himself so hard at the moment, feeling more awkward than he has in months, but when Debbie laughs and pulls him in for a quick hug, he squeezes her back and tries to hide his smile. It felt good to know that someone from Ian's family likes him – someone who's not a six year old, that is.

“We should probably get out of here,” Debbie says, “you going somewhere? I'd like you to meet someone first, if you've got the time. My place is not too far.”

“There's more of us,” Ian replies, “they're by the main entrance – we were supposed to apply for a place or whatever. I'll go with you, I just wanna let them know first.”

She agrees, saying that she needs to pick up some things anyway, and to meet her back in the lobby once they're done. Their group had already gotten the technicalities settled, and they all agree to meet back there once Ian and Mickey get back from Debbie's and the rest had settled down in their new spots.

Mickey doesn't question it when Ian insists he go with, waving at the others awkwardly and trying to ignore the weird dull ache at seeing his siblings' backs as they're walking away.

“We'll see them soon,” Ian murmurs only for him to hear, tugging at his arm gently to get him to move. He must have stood there for a while, but Ian doesn’t mention it.

 

*

 

While talking to his sister about all the small, unimportant things that won't open up any huge topics they're not yet ready to enter, his emotions are a cluster-fuck of shock-relief-pain-wonder-happiness-surprise-fear-anxiety, one taking over the other in a succession too quick to register in his brain.

He's talking to his sister.

Debbie.

Who's alive and well and _here._

“… and then I met this girl who used to go to school with me, Joanne. She works with me and we got pretty close, I guess she's the closest person I have at the moment.”

“Is that who I'm meeting?” he asks, cursing at himself for missing some of what she's been saying. Then again, he could barely ever keep up with her.

“Not really,” she answers, avoiding the unspoken question, but he doesn't pry. “But she'll be there also.”

It's just a few minutes before they stop in front of one of the many small houses lining the seemingly never-ending street. It's old and a bit beat down but it's definitely an upgrade from the old house back in Chicago. Ian wonders shortly whether anyone's gone back there yet, whether it even still stands, but he decides it doesn't matter now.

“You good?” Mickey asks as they follow Debbie through the door, his only answer a nod of his head. Debbie doesn't wait up for them, just strolls right through the front room into an open space living room-slash-kitchen. There's a young girl sitting on the couch, her dark skin in stark contrast with the baby that's sitting on her lap, its arms reaching out towards Debbie who takes the baby into her embrace, nuzzling the small face. “Thanks, Joanna, I owe you,” she says, but Joanna just rolls her eyes.

Then, Debbie finally turns towards them, and Ian thinks he should know what's going on by now, he's smart for fuck's sake, but he's just staring at the tiny ginger-haired toddler, not hearing a word of what his sister is saying.

“You wanna hold her?” Debbie asks, already handing her out to him, so he complies and lets her put the baby into his arms, desperately hoping that he's holding her right – and she giggles in the cute way only babies can.

“Debs?” he asks, the confusion finally clearing out. “Is that…?”

“My daughter. Her name's Franny. She's a year and a half, though she's probably double the size than normal. Guessing that's a Gallagher thing, Fiona always said we each weighed a ton when we were born.” She's smiling down at Franny, looking proud as hell, and Ian is proud of her too. She's young, probably too young to be taking care of a child on her own, but the word lost its meaning with what's happened to the world.

He wants to ask all the when's and how's, but Franny taps his necks with her tiny hand, tugging at his ear and giggling still. “She's so beautiful, Debs,” he says instead. He glances over at Mickey who's staring at the kid with a soft expression on his face, the corners of his mouth lifted slightly, and the sight is just as beautiful. He doesn't say that out loud though.

Debbie motions them all to sit down after introducing them to Joanna and vice versa, offering to take Franny but Ian assures her that it's fine. She rambles on and on as she's making some tea in her small kitchen and the normalcy of it all is almost too much.

“So, how did this happen?” he asks once they're all sitting down and sipping on some tea, basically out of light-hearted topics and feeling the weight of the years that have passed. Of the things they don't know about each other. Joanna has left a while ago, giving them each a kiss on the cheek, and Franny is sleeping in the next room.

“I think you know how it happened, Ian,” Debbie sighs, rolling her eyes slightly. “I met a guy. Fell crazy in love. Didn't realize what a douchebag he was until I was pregnant and he was gone. I don't regret any of it, Franny is the best thing that's ever happened to me.”

“But you're raising her alone. That's…”

“I'm not alone,” she cuts him off, frowning. “There's Joanna and I had help from Lip in the beginning. Besides, I'm perfectly capable of taking care of my own daughter.”

“I didn't mean to imply otherwise,” he says apologetically. “Can we talk about the rest, too? What happened after I left?”

Debbie's brows furrow and her smile stiffens for a while, but he's been bracing himself for this. He knows he'll have to explain himself, but he needs to know, first. Mickey's hand tapping softly on his knee makes it bearable.

“It wasn't long until the symptoms showed… And the Protectors took over as quietly and subtly as possible. We stayed at the old house, except for Fiona of course, but we were moved and separated shortly after.”

He tries not to flinch when Debbie mentions Fiona, not knowing whether or how much she knows, but he needs to let her finish, first. She doesn't notice.

“Carl and I were put with this family, they were amazing to us, but when the things started going downhill, we took off. Found out where Lip and Liam were but we couldn't visit them. In the end, it didn't matter. We did have faith in the Protectors in the beginning, partially because of you, but then the people started talking and what they were saying made more sense than whatever bullshit it was the Protectors were spewing. We couldn't do much but what we were told, but we never trusted them again. After the Liberation, Lip, Franny and I went here. I got a job in the hospital since I had the practice, and Lip was transferred to New York almost immediately. He didn't wanna leave us behind at first, but I made him go. They needed him. Carl stayed behind in Chicago, he was really close to the family that took us in and wanted to make sure they'd be alright. I, uh… I guess that's it. The brief version.”

Ian is breathing hard, taking in the information and mentally preparing himself for his sister's accusations, but they never come. She probably senses his uneasiness, because she continues. “I know you weren't on their side, Ian. I met two of your friends back at Richard's office when I came to him crying after seeing your name everywhere. If anything, I feel awful that I needed their confirmation to know for sure that you'd never do any of it.”

There's tears and hugs and apologies and he asks Debbie as many questions as she's willing to answer, wanting to know every little detail about his siblings' lives but also hoping that he wouldn't have to ruin their semi-happy bubble with his own story.

But this is Debbie Gallagher, the girl whose stubbornness easily conquers his and Mickey's combined, and he knows that he owes her answers.

Mickey is there through all of it. He barely speaks himself, only when Ian can't seem to bring himself to continue. He tells him to take his time, tells him that it's okay, tells him to breathe or encourages him to keep going, always knowing exactly how to make this easier, and when Debbie sits on his other side and tugs her face into his shoulder, letting herself cry over their sister and everything that went down, finally getting to hold the brother she thought she'd lost, Mickey gives him the strength necessary to comfort her in her grief and to keep it together.

They leave with a promise to keep in touch, Ian pocketing the sheet of paper with Debbie's address and phone number on it – she says there's bound to be a phone in their apartment, too – and their friends don't ask once they're all together again.

They lead Ian and Mickey to the apartment building and a door that apparently leads to something theirs, make rough plans about meeting up the next morning to decide what to do next, but Ian is immensely grateful that all encounters are kept brief. He's happy that they're all together again, but the reunions and the emotional rollercoaster at Debbie's left him overwhelmed and desperate for some peace and quiet.

Mickey doesn't say anything, hasn't since they'd left Debbie's, but he motions him towards the shower and strips them off their clothes, climbing inside and dragging Ian in with him. The warm water and gentle touches and wet kisses finally manage to shut off his brain, and despite thinking that he couldn't possibly have any more tears left, he cries under the steady stream of water, holding onto Mickey who is always there, right by his side, and for the first time he realizes that there may actually be a future where the two of them are happy and together, forever.

“Thank you,” he whispers once they're lying in the soft bed with the light blue sheets, facing each other with their limbs entangled. Mickey kisses him slow and deep and steady, pinning his body down with his own in a way that may have felt suffocating, but that keeps him grounded now. Safe.

“I love you,” he says, loudly this time, his lips still touching Mickey's as they're forming the words. Mickey steals another kiss before he says, “I love you, too. Let's sleep, yeah? It's been a long day.”

Ian's asleep before he finishes the sentence.

 

*

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you. To everyone who read this and left a comment, a kudo, anything. Thank you so much for encouraging me to keep going and for liking this story. It means the world to me, and I may never have finished it had it not been for your support. 
> 
> This is the last chapter... And there's an epilogue coming. I know it's been way too long and I hope some of you will stick around till the very end. Either way, I hope you enjoyed, and please, tell me your thoughts. 
> 
> Love


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